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THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 




"long at her father's door EVANGELINE stood" — Page J/p 



EVM^GELINE 



ADAPTED from: 
/lewu,wlL01^GFEL/I^0^?5^t 

BY 
CLAYTON EDWARDS 



1 







Copyright, IQ13, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 



All rights resewed 




September, IQ13 



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FOREWORD 

The purpose of this narrative is threefold, — to give 
a direct prose rendering of Longfellow's poem, "Evange- 
line," to awaken interest in the poem itself, and to pre- 
serve, so far as possible, the spirit of the original poetry 
for those who prefer their romances in prose. The text 
follows the poem closely and uses many of Longfellow's 
own words and phrases as being eminently the best fitted 
to the scenes that are described. In the brief historical 
and legendary introduction the writer is largely indebted 
to Arthur Wentworth Hamilton Eaton's "The History 
of Kings County," and to "Acadian Legends and Lyrics" 
by the same author. For Longfellow's biography the 
following books have also been consulted : "The Life of 
Longfellow" by Erin S. Robertson, "Henry Wadsworth 
Longfellow" by Thomas Wadsworth Higginson, and 
"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" by Samuel Longfellow. 



CONTENTS 

THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

PAGE 

Foreword v 

Introduction . i 

Part I .............. 37 

Part II . . .... .87 

EVANGELINE 

A TALE OF ACADIE 

Part I 137 

Part II • • . 197 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

"In the Twilight Gloom of a Window's Embrasure, 

Sat the Lovers" Cover ^ 

"Long at Her Father's Door Evangeline Stood" ^ 
Frontispiece 



TACINQ 
PAGE 



'This is the Forest Primeval" ...;.. ,,, ... . 20 ^ 

■'Down the Long Street She Passed" . . .... 40 j^ 

'There at the Door They Stood With Wondering 

Eyes to Behold Him" 70 iX 

'Close at her Father's Side Was the Gentle Evan- 
geline Seated" 100 ^' 

'And Anon With His Wooden Shoes Beat Time to 

THE Music" 130 ^- 

'Halfway Down to the Shore Evangeline Waited 

IN Silence" 160 -^ 

'Lovely the Moonlight Was as It Glanced and 

Gleamed on the Water" 190"^ 

'There in an Arbor of Roses" ....... 220 -' 

'Silent With Wonder and Strange Surprise Evan- 
geline Listened" 240 ^' 

'Thus Many Years She Lived as a Sister of Mercy" 250 xy 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



INTRODUCTION 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in the city 
of Portland, February 27, 1807. His father, Stephen 
Longfellow, was a lawyer who held a prominent place in 
the New England of his day and was greatly respected, 
both for his ability and his character. Stephen Longfel- 
low had taken honors at Harvard college and was consid- 
ered a man of extraordinary fineness of nature both by 
his professors and his classmates; he came swiftly to the 
front in the profession of law and was prominent at the 
Cumberland bar. In politics he belonged to the Feder- 
alist party and went to the legislature as representative 
in 1814. He was also a member of the National Con- 
gress a year later. 

There was little about the admirable figure of this 
old-fashioned New England gentleman, however, to 
make it seem probable that any of his son's poetic qual- 
ities were inherited from him. The poet undoubtedly 
owed to his father the composure of character and manli- 
ness of principle that have made his name, with those of 
Whitman and Browning, stand forward so sturdily 

[I] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

among the names of poets of the Nineteenth Century, 
but the gifts that won his popularity and fame must have 
come to him from the nature of his mother, who delighted 
in music and showed a keen appreciation of poetry. An 
invalid in her later years, she was active as well as beauti- 
ful in her youth, fond of dancing and of the society of her 
friends and possessed of a great love of nature — able, as 
Samuel Longfellow says of her, "to sit by a window dur- 
ing a thunderstorm enjoying the excitement of its splen- 
dors." 

Zilpah Longfellow was a daughter of General Peleg 
Wadsworth and Elizabeth Bartlett, coming from a fam- 
ily of Americans who were famous for patriotic service. 
Her brother, Henry Wadsworth, a young naval lieuten- 
ant, perished in 1804 when the fire ship Intrepid was 
blown up before Tripoli on the night of September 
fourth, and her father commanded a company of minute 
men and saw active service in the Revolution. 

Longfellow was the second son. As a boy he is de- 
scribed as decidedly attractive in character and appear- 
ance, fond of all outdoor sports — except that of shooting, 
to which his elder brother Stephen was devoted — sensi- 
tive, dreamy, quick to anger but affectionate, and with a 

[2] 



INTRODUCTION 



strong and an unusual dislike of all loud noises, a trait 
that followed him through life. When he was three years 
old his parents began to live in the house on Congress 
Street that has since been associated with the scenes of his 
youth and childhood. It was built by his grandfather, 
General Wadsworth, and was celebrated as being the 
first brick house in Portland. The poet's mother had 
spent her girlhood and celebrated her wedding there and 
she returned to the old house to make her permanent home 
soon after her marriage. 

From his earliest years Longfellow had the use of his 
father's excellent library and has left in his own words a 
record of the books that fascinated him most. Washing- 
ton Irving's "Sketch Book" was read by him "with an 
ever increasing wonder and delight," and in his address 
before the Massachusetts Historical Society on the occa- 
sion of Irving's death he declared that the old fascination 
had always remained for him. 

After some desultory schooling which began at what 
would seem to-day the preposterous age of three years, 
Longfellow was sent to the Portland Academy, where 
as a little boy he excited remark on the part of his teach- 
ers for the same industry and good habits that later grad- 

[3] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



uated him from Bowdoin almost at the head of one of the 
largest classes that up to that time had entered the young 
college. Idling was never encouraged in the Longfellow 
household, where the father governed his family with 
kindly firmness, teaching them, as is recorded, "habits of 
industry, personal honor and an abiding fear of debt." 

Samuel Longfellow and other of Longfellow's bi- 
ographers have told at some length of his first printed 
production which appeared in the poet's corner of the 
Portland Gazette when he had barely passed his thir- 
teenth birthday. It was entitled "The Battle of Lov- 
ell's Fond," and while it bears the marks of immaturity 
and is hardly remarkable when compared with the work 
that some other poets had produced at the same early 
age, it is, in a certain way characteristic of much of his 
later work. Lo veil's Pond in the neighborhood of Port- 
land was once the scene of an Indian fight whose details 
excited Longfellow's awakening imagination. The 
poem resulted and was duly printed in the Gazette un- 
der the signature of "Henry," exciting no comment what- 
ever from the young poet's parents who were doubtless 
unaware of its authorship. Longfellow had kept his ef- 
fort a secret that only his little sister shared, but on the 

[4] 



INTRODUCTION 



evening of the day that the poem was published he visited 
the house of his father's friend, Judge Mellen, whose son, 
Frederick, was one of his own early companions. The 
talk in the sitting-room chanced, unfortunately for Long- 
fellow, to include poetry, for the Judge said: "Did you 
see the piece in to-day's paper? Very stiff, remarkably 
stiff; moreover it is all borrowed, every word of it." 

The cruel disappointment at this reception of his 
earliest flight did not, however, prevent ''Henry" from 
repeating his performance and publishing other poems, 
all more or less crude, over the same signature. Grad- 
ually the secret of their authorship leaked out among his 
friends. His mother encouraged him in his "poetic effu- 
sions" as she called his writings and Portland became 
the scene of a schoolboy literary union that included four 
or five other lads besides Longfellow. In the meanwhile 
he attended strictly to his studies and was ready for col- 
lege when fourteen years old, passing his entrance ex- 
aminations for Bowdoin in 1821. 

Stephen Longfellow, was one of the trustees of that 
little college that has since then had upon its honor roll 
such names as Longfellow, Hawthorne and Peary; and 
it was characteristic of him that he decided to send both 

[5] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

his sons to the young and struggling institution, feeling 
himself in duty bound to do so. Longfellow entered col- 
lege in the same year with his elder brother, Stephen, mak- 
ing the acquaintance of Nathaniel Hawthorne who 
chanced to be in his class. In their college years, how- 
ever, the two never became the closest of friends, al- 
though they were fond of taking walks together in the 
Brunswick woods and of reading and conversing on liter- 
ary subjects. 

Longfellow studied hard at Bowdoin and wrote con- 
stantly. Although the quality of most of his earliest 
poems was far from being remarkable, they showed suf- 
ficient flashes of inspiration to awaken in his own mind a 
passionate desire to direct his life work in the field of lit- 
erature. Bryant was becoming famous then, and a paper 
known as the United States Literary Gazette had the 
unique distinction of printing, often on the same page, the 
early poems of Bryant and Longfellow, while it was 
claimed that the quality of this verse with that of other 
contemporaries was of a higher order than the work of any 
previous American poets. "With Bryant and Longfel- 
low it would therefore seem that the permanent poetic 
literature of the nation began," says Higginson — a small 

[6] 



INTRODUCTION 



beginning, certainly when considered with the work that 
was being done on the other side of the Atlantic at that 
time, where the poems of Keats, Shelley, Byron and 
Wordsworth were ringing! 

Bryant's poetry in those early days was considered 
far superior to that of his younger rival and Longfellow 
has admitted that much of his verse was involuntarily bor- 
rowed from Bryant's, for which he had the highest admira- 
tion. He discarded the major part of it in his later life 
with the apology, that all had been written before he was 
nineteen years old. Seventeen pieces were contributed 
by Longfellow to the Gazette during his college course 
and only five of them were considered by him to be suf- 
ficiently good for subsequent publication. 

His future career commenced to become a problem to 
him, occupying his mind to a marked degree during the 
year of his graduation, and he wrote frequently to his 
father asking advice. He confessed himself averse to tak- 
ing up any profession and expressed the desire to spend a 
year abroad at Cambridge to study the polite languages. 
He declared that of all the things in the world he had a 
strong desire to win distinction in literature, and that in 
the field of letters alone did he believe that he could be 

[7] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

successful. That Longfellow's father did not have great 
confidence in his son's literary gifts is decidedly apparent 
in the tone of his answering letters. He said among other 
things that America did not then possess wealth enough to 
encourage purely literary men ; that while the life of an 
author must be very pleasant, it required sufficient means 
to dissolve the thought of the necessity of self-support 
and that as he had never lived with the intention of amass- 
ing wealth for his children but rather to cultivate their 
minds in the best possible manner, his own income did 
not allow his son's taking such a course. He would be 
glad, however, he added, to bear the expenses of the trip 
abroad, which he had always believed might be beneficial 
to his son. 

While the young poet was thus wrestling with his 
first real problem, the event occurred which it is generally 
conceded forced the trend of his genius and directed the 
course of his entire life — perhaps was even responsible 
for his having continued in literature, although this 
seems hardly probable. In college his ability as a scholar 
had attracted such attention at Bowdoin that although he 
was only nineteen years old when he graduated the trus- 
tees promptly chose him to fill a new position made by the 

[8] 



INTRODUCTION 



establishment of a chair of modern languages through a 
gift by Mrs. Bowdoin. This entailed a year's study 
abroad to gain a mastery of modern languages and it is 
needless to say that Longfellow was delighted with the 
marvelous opportunity which fell in so happily with his 
own wishes. He accepted it at once — ^but with the de- 
mand that he be made a professor instead of filling the 
position of instructor as was expected of him. The point 
was acceded by the trustees and Longfellow sailed for 
France. 

Europe in those days had about it a glamour for Amer- 
icans that was enhanced in Longfellow's eyes through the 
stimulus to his active imagination in the studying of dif- 
ferent peoples and customs and the visiting of historic 
and romantic places. His letters home bear ample wit- 
ness to the effect of his first travels. He was faithful to 
the purpose with which he had gone abroad, however, and 
in the time allowed him gained a knowledge of French, 
German, Spanish and Italian. He had well fulfilled 
his mission when he returned to take up his duties at Bow- 
doin, where so short a time before he had been a student. 

Longfellow's life as a professor of languages in the 
little rural college was uneventful, but he soon became 

[9] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



known not only in Brunswick but generally throughout 
the country for his capability as a teacher. He applied 
himself to his work with great devotion and earnestness, 
preparing text books and foreign classics for the benefit 
of his pupils and doing everything in his power to attain 
a stimulating influence over them. 

In 1831 he married a Portland girl named Mary 
Storer Potter, a second daughter of Barrett Potter who 
was a neighbor and friend of Longfellow's own family. 
She had scholarly tastes and, what was perhaps more im- 
portant in the wife of a young professor, was able suc- 
cessfully to administer her husband's household affairs on 
the slender income that the Bowdoin trustees considered 
an adequate salary. In addition to the sum of eight hun- 
dred dollars a year for his professional work Longfellow 
received an extra hundred for his duties as college li- 
brarian. His labors were by no means light, and he found 
the sum that he received meager enough to meet his grow- 
ing expenses, while he was obliged to rise early each morn- 
ing to perform his literary work. And even then there ap- 
peared to be nothing about this work to indicate the rise 
of a great poet. It consisted mostly of prose, a large part 
of which was sketches of his European experiences, 

[10] 



INTRODUCTION 



written after the manner of Washington Irving. These 
sketches were published in the New England Magazine 
under the title of "The Schoolmaster." Many writers 
and biographers have commented on the fact that wdth 
the exception of his very earliest poems his first work was 
scant in verse production and that he seemed to show no 
particular talent or even inclination for poetry. 

As a teacher, however, his ability was evident from 
the first. Three years after he had taken up his work in 
Bowdoin he had won a reputation of the first order that 
resulted in his receiving a letter from Josiah Quincy of 
Harvard College, informing him that Professor Ticknor 
had given notice of his coming resignation as Smith Pro- 
fessor of Modern Languages and asking Longfellow to 
take his place. The letter implied that a preliminary 
stay in Europe for further study would be advisable, and 
Longfellow promptly accepted both the hint and the 
position, preparing at once for a second foreign tour in 
which his wife was to accompany him. He sailed with 
her in the spring of 1835, going first to London, where he 
met Thomas Carlyle; thence after a brief stay to Sweden 
and from there to Holland. 

In Holland there came to Longfellow the first real 

[II] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

sorrow that he had ever experienced, for his young wife 
died in Amsterdam after an illness of several weeks. 
What this meant to him, alone and among strangers, can 
be imagined — especially as his married life had been the 
happiest conceivable. His letters, which strove to put on 
a brave front, had a note of the utmost despondency, but 
he remained abroad and went on with his work probably 
from a sense of duty to the college he was about to enter. 

That winter he spent in Heidelberg, studying deeply 
and meeting several men that greatly interested him, 
among them the poet Bryant, who was hitherto unknown 
to him, although he had molded so much of Longfellow's 
early writing. 

In 1836 Longfellow returned to America and took 
up his residence in Cambridge as a Harvard professor. 
He boarded in the old Craigie house which had been built 
almost a hundred years before and which was used as Gen- 
eral Washington's headquarters during the siege of Bos- 
ton in the Revolution. This old house was naturally 
famous in Cambridge and one of its most interesting land- 
marks even before it gained the added fame of being the 
residence of Longfellow. The house is said to have been 
built in 1759 by Colonel John Vassal and was taken by 

[12] 



INTRODUCTION 



Washington as headquarters and residence. Later it was 
purchased by Andrew Craigie who had served as surgeon- 
general in the Continental army. He became an elab- 
orate entertainer and is reported to have had among his 
guests no less personages than the famous Talleyrand and 
Prince Edward, the Duke of Kent, Queen Victoria's 
father. Mrs. Craigie still lived in the old house when 
Longfellow went to Cambridge and was exceedingly loath 
to take him as a lodger until she found out who he was. 
But when he declared himself the author of "Outre Mer," 
a book of European sketches then recently published, a 
copy of which was lying on her sideboard at the time of 
Longfellow's call upon her, the good lady promptly re- 
lented, showed him through the house and taking him into 
a pleasant chamber announced to him that it had been 
General Washington's once and that he could have it for 
his own. 

Longfellow published his second book, the novel, 
"Hyperion," soon after he commenced his duties at Har- 
vard. The previous book that had made such an impres- 
sion upon his landlady had been running in magazine 
form before his second European tour. He was also pub- 
lishing in the Knickerbocker Magazine a number of short: 

[13] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



poems among which was "The Psalm of Life," that at 
first appeared anonymously. It received wide attention 
throughout the country with so much speculation as to its 
authorship that Longfellow decided to republish it under 
his own name, bringing it out with a number of other 
verses in 1839 in a little book that he called "Voices of 
the Night," most of the poems in it being reprinted from 
the Knickerbocker Magazine. 

"Hyperion" had appeared two or three months ear- 
lier and according to some biographers Longfellow has 
been criticized for the apparent lack of taste that he ex- 
hibited in it. The main purpose of the book, it has been 
claimed, was nothing else than the wooing of Miss 
Frances Elizabeth Appleton, a lady that Longfellow had 
met some years before in Switzerland. Certainly she is 
obviously the heroine, Mary Ashburton, while the author's 
own experiences and emotions are but thinly veiled 
under the romantic narrative. 

The experiment did not fail, or rather Longfellow 
succeeded in spite of it. Four years later he married 
Frances Appleton, a remarkable and charming woman 
who was to become identified in a large measure with 
much of his later work, for the poet's second wife had es- 

[14] 



INTRODUCTION 



sentially the nature best fitted to aid her husband in his 
creative labors, and entered with all her heart into his lit- 
erary life. 

Before Longfellow's second marriage, however, and 
after the publication of "Hyperion," he produced some of 
his most distinctive and characteristic work. "The 
Skeleton in Armor," "The Wreck of the Hesperus," 
"Excelsior," and the much discussed and somewhat se- 
verely criticized "Poems on Slavery," had all been pub- 
lished. These last cost Longfellow for a time a consider- 
able part of his popularity, a loss that in no way affected 
his composure, although the poems were criticized not 
only on account of the issue with which they dealt but for 
reasons of poetic inferiority. Even those reformers who 
had largely induced Longfellow to employ his pen on this 
dynamic and highly explosive subject felt that his note 
was somewhat too slight for the magnitude of his theme, 
and compared his verse unfavorably with that of Whit- 
tier. It is known and mentioned, however, that Whittier 
himself wrote to Longfellow expressing his appreciation 
of the poems, declaring that they had rendered important 
service to the Liberty movement; and certainly the criti- 
cism that fell on Longfellow was shared and shared gen- 

[15] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

erously by Whittier, Emerson and all others who were 
writing against slavery. 

In 1843 Longfellow published "The Spanish Stu- 
dent," a dramatic poem of no particular merit that en- 
joyed almost equal popularity, however, with some of his 
better work that had preceded it. By this time his fame 
was national and well established, and he was beginning 
to make the peculiar and general appeal in the homes of 
Americans that has fallen to the lot of no other writer, 
either of verse or prose, while his strong tendency toward 
Americanism was becoming broader and deeper. 

It seemed, indeed, at this time in Longfellow's career, 
as if Fortune could not do too much for her favorite, who 
throughout his life, with the exception of the one great 
tragedy of his later years, was destined to enjoy so large 
an amount of happiness. His second wife was not only 
a woman who in every way could awaken his inspiration, 
but she was possessed of a sufficient fortune so that the 
thought of poverty need never trouble him or his family. 
His position in the university and in the nation was even 
then assured. He was still young, and in spite of his 
academic duties had sufficient time at his command to de- 

[16] 



INTRODUCTION 



velop his growing genius and to satisfy the poetic craving 
of his nature. 

A scholarly work on the poets and the poetry of 
Europe, written jointly by Longfellow and Professor Fel- 
ton was published in 1845. It was composed of several 
hundred translations of poems in various languages from 
Icelandic to Portuguese with critical commentaries and 
introductions and it showed Longfellow's tremendous 
versatility in and acquaintance with foreign tongues. In 
the same year there appeared notes in his diary showing 
that already he was considering the long, hexameter poem, 
"Evangeline." In 1846 he published "The Belfry of 
Bruges and Other Poems," which included many of his 
popular favorites, among them "The Arrow and the 
Song." 

Then came "Evangeline" on which he had been 
working for some time and which was destined to be the 
most popular of any of his poems. He had never been to 
Nova Scotia, or Acadia, to acquaint himself with the 
scenes of his new literary venture, but the description, on 
the whole, rings true in spite of minor inconsistencies. 

Robertson tells us a curious story of "Evangeline's" 

[17] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



inception — how Longfellow one day was dining at his 
home with Nathaniel Hawthorne and a clergyman who 
told the poet of a subject in which he was endeavoring 
without success to awaken Hawthorne's interest. He 
then related the history of a young Acadian girl who had 
been driven into exile with all the rest of her people dur- 
ing the expulsion of the Acadians in 1755; how she be- 
came separated from her lover and wandered for many 
years in search of him until she found him in a hospital at 
the point of death. "That Longfellow at once took the 
lovely legend," writes Robertson, "is not so striking a 
fact, as that Hawthorne, true to the strange taste of his 
'miasmatic conscience' felt the want of a sin to study in 
the story and so would have none of it." 

The success of "Evangeline" was rapid and so uni- 
versal that thirty-seven thousand copies were sold in the 
first ten years. The effect of the poem upon Nova 
Scotia and French Canada is still evident. It is said that 
the French Canadians hold Longfellow higher than any 
other poet and that many of them have learned English 
just for the pleasure of reading Evangeline in the orig- 
inal. Evangeline herself has been portrayed upon the 
pamphlets and time-tables of Canadian railroads that 

[18] 



INTRODUCTION 



have been prompt to see the advertising possibilities in 
the poem. The poem itself has been translated into ten 
foreign languages, and to-day it is still read widely. 

"Kavanagh" followed "Evangeline" — a novel for 
which Americans seem to have little inclination, and 
after its publication there was a lull in Longfellow's lit- 
erary output. But "The Seaside and the Fireside" was 
published in Boston in 1850 and "The Golden Legend" 
in 1851. Then, in 1855, appeared what to many people 
will always stand as the high-water mark of Longfel- 
low's genius, "The Song of Hiawatha" in which the 
spirit and traditions of the Indians were so thoroughly 
portrayed, with such fresh and delightful simplicity, that 
it stands high and alone as the poetic expression of the 
Indian legend. 

For some time past Longfellow had been working on 
this Indian adventure and from the entries regarding it 
that we read in quotations from his journal we can see that 
it fascinated and delighted him. Finally it was put on 
press in a first edition of 5000 copies and the response was 
immediate and enthusiastic on the part of the reading 
public. Violent controversies arose among the critics but 
on the whole their judgment was favorable. Emerson 

[19] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

read the poem with interest and sent to Longfellow a let- 
ter of tempered praise. Bayard Taylor wrote in the same 
manner, though on the whole more warmly. Hawthorne 
and Parsons joined in commending it and letters of ap- 
preciation and criticism poured on the poet who had ap- 
parently awakened the entire nation through the original 
application of his verse. 

By this time Longfellow had resigned his professor- 
ship in order to be entirely free for literary effort. Even 
if he had not been comparatively wealthy he would then 
have been in a position to earn a comfortable income from 
his writing. He was paying the pleasant penalty of his 
fame in the host of visitors and the curious that besieged 
him constantly and in the ceaseless incoming tide of let- 
ters from all over the country, many of which he tried to 
answer in his own hand. But although he had given him- 
self completely to writing it was three years after "Hia- 
watha" had taken the country by storm before "The 
Courtship of Miles Standish" was published and five 
years later before "Tales of a Wayside Inn" was given 
to the press. 

In those five years, however, there had come to Long- 
fellow a sudden and hideous tragedy. Early in July, 

[20] 




'this is the forest primeval" — Page i^j 



INTRODUCTION 



1861, Mrs. Longfellow, while with her children in the 
library of Craigie House, was burned to death from the 
accidental falling of a match and Longfellow himself re- 
ceived severe burns in his efforts to rescue her. The hor- 
ror and pity of this event were indescribable and for a 
long time afterward Longfellow could not speak of the 
anguish that he had experienced. He never completely 
recovered from the shock and though in time he resumed 
his writing, it seemed as if his greatest work had been 
completed. 

'Tlower de Luce," "The New England Tragedies" 
and a translation of Dante's "Divine Comedy" appeared 
successively in the years from 1867 to 1870 and 
"Christus, a Mystery" followed them two years later in 
an effort to consummate what Longfellow believed to be 
"a higher strain" of poetry. The different parts of this 
poem had already been published, "The Divine 
Tragedy," "The Golden Legend" and "The New Eng- 
land Tragedies" forming the whole. 

From this time on new tributes were constantly given 
to Longfellow. In 1868 he visited Europe again and was 
presented to Queen Victoria and to a large number of 
England's greatest men. Degrees and honors were con- 

[21] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ferred on him by foreign universities. He was accorded 
respect and admiration wherever he went. From the 
time of his return to America, his life was quiet and even 
until the day of his death. "Aftermath," "The Masque 
of Pandora and Other Poems," "Poems of Places," 
"Keramos," "Ultima Thule," "In the Harbor" and 
"Michael Angelo" were the new and collected issues of 
his writings. He died in 1882 and two years later his 
bust was placed in the poets' corner of Westminster 
Abbey, an honor that had been conferred upon no other 
American poet. 

The land of Acadia, that is now called Nova Scotia, 
is the scene of many stories and events in history that 
have made it a fitting place to have become the back- 
ground of a narrative so romantic as that of the Acadian 
exile and of the lifelong separation of Evangeline from 
her lover, Gabriel; for the earliest tale that deals with 
this country is nearly a thousand years old, dating back 
hundreds of years before Columbus to the time when the 
savage and adventurous Norsemen sailed in open boats 
into unknown seas and came to a land that they called 
Markland, lying far in the western ocean. This land is 

[22] 



INTRODUCTION 



believed to have been discovered by a Viking captain 
named Leif Ericsson, who sailed into the west from the 
shores of Greenland coming at last to a strange and mar- 
velous country that seems to have been no other than 
Acadia itself; but for nearly five hundred years after- 
ward no white man is known to have visited its shores to 
confirm the tales of Ericsson and his comrades concerning 
it. 

In that time, however, and perhaps for thousands of 
years before, Acadia was the home of a tribe of Indians 
called Micmacs, who came and went across the Basin of 
Minas in their birch canoes and who hunted moose and 
beaver in the Acadian forests. Like the white settlers 
that followed them, the Micmacs appear to have been un- 
der the spell of the country where they lived and to have 
believed in many legends concerning it. Some of these 
legends claim that they were created by the sun itself, and 
it is certain that they worshiped the sun as their chief 
god and life giver; but other stories tell how they were 
made in human form by their hero-god, the mighty Gloos- 
cap, who shaped them from the ash-tree and who also 
turned his uncle, the turtle, into a man, finding him a 
wife from the tribe that he had just created. The Mic- 

[23] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

macs believed too in a demon called Mendon who exer- 
cised his baleful powers upon them in many ways and 
whom they tried to appease by prayers and sacrifices 
whenever evil came upon them, although Glooscap, their 
chief hero, was supposed to watch over them and protect 
them from all harm. 

Glooscap was loved by the Micmacs above all other 
gods and spirits and they claim to have beheld him in 
visible form striding far and wide throughout the coun- 
try of Acadia. His favorite dwelling place was on the 
crest of the lofty cape, Blomidon, not far from the spot 
where the Acadians built their village — a cape that is 
almost a mountain, where he would sit for days at a 
time to watch over his people. He gave to them the bea- 
ver and the moose, the wolf and fox, and bear and marten 
— all the animals that ran in the forest, and he con- 
quered many of the formidable monsters that inhabited 
the country when he came there. With his bow and ar- 
rows he slew the terrible giant, Chenoo, of whom every 
living creature had been afraid, and he captured and 
bound the great Wind-Bird, the Wuchowsen. Glooscap 
fought and vanquished the numerous giant sorcerers that 
had troubled the land of Acadia for centuries, and he 

[24] 



INTRODUCTION 



turned into rattlesnakes certain hostile Indians that 
strove to oppose his will. In sport he created the elves 
and fairies that lived in the brooks and thickets of the 
wilderness, and one of his favorite pleasures was to 
force the whales of the ocean to do his bidding, for he 
would leap upon their backs and ride far into the open 
sea, compelling them to obey his will and carry him where 
he chose as though they had been trained to a bit and 
bridle all their lives. Every bird and beast of the land 
became his slave to do with as he chose, and the water- 
fowl, the loon, whose weird laughter can still be heard 
upon the Acadian lakes and rivers, became the messen- 
ger of Glooscap and flew with gladness on his errands. 
Before this mighty god had come to the Acadian 
land, the beavers were gigantic beasts, greater in size even 
than the whales that he rode out to sea, for they had 
built a dam straight across the bay that is now called the 
Basin of Minas, which had become a salt water lake of 
vast extent with no connection with the outer ocean^ 
Glooscap was so powerful that he broke the dam with a 
wave of the wand he carried, allowing the huge tides of 
the Bay of Fundy to rush upon the shores and to over- 
flow the streams and rivers until their waters flooded the 

[25] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

surrounding country as they have continued to do to this 
day in certain places, while in others the white settlers 
have been forced to build dykes to protect their meadows 
against the inroads of the sea. After he had destroyed the 
labor of the beavers, Glooscap beheld one of their num- 
ber that sought to hide, and to frighten the beast still 
further he threw several handf uls of earth in its direction. 
His strength was so great, and the volume of earth that he 
lifted was so vast, that when it fell it became five islands 
that have remained in the Bay of Fundy ever since. 

Many other wonders were believed by the Micmacs 
to have been performed by the mighty Glooscap, but be- 
fore the French settlers came to their country he deserted 
his people and sought a new home in the west where he 
built his wigwam beyond the setting sun and made vast 
quantities of arrows for the Indians to use in a future and 
glorious battle against their enemies. Before he went 
away from them, however, he held a great feast on the 
seashore to which all the birds of the air and the animals 
of the forest were invited. All these animals up to the 
time of that feast had possessed the gift of speech and 
one and all they came at the bidding of Glooscap to feast 
with him until late in the night. All the wolves and 

[26] 



INTRODUCTION 



foxes, moose and beavers, martens and turtles, white 
owls and loons — all the animals that ever lived in the 
land of Acadia were present, and they conversed with 
Glooscap and each other just as human beings would do 
to-day. But there was little merriment at the feast, for 
they knew that their master was going away from them, 
and they ate and drank together sadly until the late moon 
rose and cast a beam of silver light on the high Cape 
Blomidon, where Glooscap had made his home. Then he 
rose and left the feast, passing swiftly through the forest 
to the place where his great canoe was drawn high on the 
shore. He bade "the tide to return to the ocean and as 
it did so launched his canoe upon the waters and sailed 
away, singing a song of the utmost sadness that was 
heard by all the animals that he had left behind him at 
the feast. As they heard his song they suddenly lost the 
gift of speech and were unable to live in friendship with 
each other any longer, so they rose from the place where 
they had been feasting and fled into the wilderness. The 
loons that Glooscap had loved and that had been his mes- 
sengers, cried sadly on the lakes and rivers and the great 
white owl in the depths of the forest mourned and wailed 
for its lost master. The Indians too knew that Gloos- 

[27] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

cap's reign was over and were grieved at his departure, 
but they believe that he will return to them and occupy 
once more his ancient home on Blomidon. Some of them 
once said that they had found the wigwam of their hero 
in the land beyond the setting sun after searching for 
seven years and that they themselves had from his own 
lips heard his faithful promise to return to his own peo- 
ple. But the top of Blomidon is still deserted and what 
are left of the Micmac Indians still await the home-com- 
ing of Glooscap. 



The first explorer who actually set foot on Acadian soil 
was the great pioneer, Champlain, who had served in Brit- 
tany in the army of King Henry the Fourth of France and 
who sailed up the Saint Lawrence river in 1603. The 
next year he returned and with two other pioneers named 
DeMonts and de Poitrincourt, sailed into the Bay of 
Fundy to explore its upper portion, disembarking at a 
place called "Mines," because a quantity of amethysts 
were found there in the sands. DeMonts and de Poit- 
rincourt were aided by Champlain in founding the town 
of Port Royal, and afterward he journeyed onward to 
establish the first white settlement at Quebec and to dis- 

[28] 



INTRODUCTION 



cover the great lake that bears his name. The little town 
that his fellow-explorers labored to establish lived only 
for six years, and in 1613 the English colonists made a 
descent upon the French settlers in Acadia, claiming that 
the country belonged to them by right of the discoveries 
of John Cabot, who had sailed along the Acadian coast 
seven years after Columbus had discovered the West 
Indies. In this raid the greater number of the earliest 
Acadians were driven froru their homes and the town of 
Port Royal was left deserved. 

No other white explorers tried to form a colony in 
Acadia until 1621, when an English nobleman named Sir 
William Alexander obtained a grant for the entire coun- 
try from King James the First of England, who com- 
manded that the country be called thereafter Nova Scotia 
instead of Acadia which was the name that had been given 
it by the French. Soon after, however, a treaty between 
France and England gave the country back to its former 
owners, and French settlers were again established there, 
but fierce feuds broke out among them and in 1654 a force 
sent out by Oliver Cromwell took possession once more 
in the name of the English. This time the English kept 
the land for thirteen years when it was again restored to 

[29] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

France by the treaty of Breda. In spite of this, how- 
ever, there were continual small wars between the Eng- 
lish and French settlers, and in 1704 the English, under 
Colonel Benjamin Church, who was a famous Rhode Is- 
land Indian fighter, visited Port Royal and Minas Basin 
to punish the inhabitants. This English commander, 
who had fought the French before, was known to be ut- 
terly without pity or forbearance, and the Acadians were 
made to regret his visit keenly, for the English cut the 
dykes that they had built to protect their meadows 
against the Fundy tides and burned their barns and 
dwellings, killing several of their number and slaughter- 
ing whatever sheep and cattle they could lay their hands 
on. 

Six years later the final conquest of the country was 
effected by the English, who sailed up the Basin of Minas 
with a fleet of six warships and twenty-nine transports 
commanded by General Francis Nicholson. Port Royal 
was captured and the French were obliged to consent to 
a treaty by which they renounced all further rights to the 
country that Champlain had discovered. Nor did they 
know what treatment to expect from the hands of their 
conquerors before the treaty was drawn up, providing 

[30] 



INTRODUCTION 



that they might keep their farms and homesteads and en- 
joy their religion unmolested on the sole condition that 
they should become loyal British subjects. 

In spite of the mastery by the English, however, and 
the acknowledged submission of the Acadian French, a 
great deal of bitter feeling still was manifest among the 
rival settlers and some fighting took place between them. 
The English believed that the French were inciting the 
Indians against them and were angry because the Indians 
held traffic with the French garrison of Louisburg in 
Cape Breton Island, sending them the produce of their 
farms. War continued between France and England 
and Louisburg was finally captured by Sir William 
Pepperell in 1745. This was one of the strongest for- 
tresses that the French possessed in America, and desperate 
at its loss they dispatched a fleet from France to recapture 
it and to take the whole of Acadia as well. The English 
became afraid that they could not hold the land against 
the force that was being sent against them, and Lieu- 
tenant Governor Mascarene appealed for aid to Gover- 
nor Shirley of Massachusetts, who sent five hundred 
volunteers to aid the small number of English troops that 
were already in Acadia. The command of these volun- 

[31] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

teers was given to Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Noble, who 
had been one of the English officers that distinguished 
themselves at the capture of Louisburg. 

Noble's company of volunteers set sail from New 
England in 1747 and landed at Port Royal late in the au- 
tumn of that year. They marched from there to the vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre from which Evangeline and her coun- 
trymen were driven into exile a few years later, and 
finding it too late in the year to build a blockhouse, quar- 
tered at Minas in twenty-four private dwellings that 
they secured from the Acadians for the purpose. 

In an encampment not far off there were a number of 
French troops under the command of an officer named 
Ramesay, and learning of the arrival of the English 
troops at Minas, they determined to surprise and destroy 
them. The French were all the more determined to put 
an end to the invaders because they knew that Colonel 
Noble intended to attack them in the spring of the follow- 
ing year. In January therefore in bitter cold when the 
snow lay deep on the land, the French marshaled their 
men and marched toward the English encampment, think- 
ing to surprise them utterly by an attack at such an unex- 
pected time. They reached the village at nightfall and 

[32] 



INTRODUCTION 



rushing upon the houses where the English were asleep 
caught them completely off their guard and killed a large 
number as they sallied half asleep from their quarters. 
Colonel Noble shared the fate of many of his soldiers 
and was shot down fighting in his shirt, while those of his 
men that escaped were driven away from the village, 
and retreated to Port Royal. 

Fighting continued for the next eight years until the 
most northerly of all the Acadian strongholds fell into 
the hands of the English in 1755, giving them complete 
control over the entire country. In the following year 
the Acadians were required to swear allegiance to the 
English king, but were unwilling to assent to this because 
such an oath might compel them to bear arms against their 
own countrymen at some future time. Therefore depu- 
ties from all the Acadian villages went to the town of 
Halifax that was the chief stronghold of the English, and 
told Governor Lawrence that they were unwilling to take 
the oath that had been required of them. As soon as 
they left the town and returned to their homes, steps 
were taken to drive them all from the country, Governor 
Lawrence declaring that either they must submit or he 
would rid his entire province of such disloyal subjects. 

[33] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

In this way the events came about that are narrated 
in the poem of Evangeline, and in spite of the continual 
warfare between the early settlers there is much to show 
that the Acadians were indeed the happy, thrifty and 
peace-loving people that Longfellow has described them. 
To-day the traveler to the site of the village of Grand- 
Pre will find the same rich and beautiful meadows and 
the same air of quiet repose that he reads of in Long- 
fellow's poem, and he may even discover traces of the old 
Acadians, while the name of Evangeline is a household 
word throughout the entire land. 



[34] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

THE FIRST PART 



IN the land of Acadia the little village called Grand- 
Pre once stood near to the shore of the blue and 
pleasant bay named Minas Basin. It was built by the 
French people who were known as Acadians and who 
named their village from the vast and fertile meadows 
that stretched to the eastward, giving pasture to countless 
flocks of sheep and cattle. The Acadians were thrifty 
and industrious farmers, proud of the fertile country that 
they created from the wilderness, and they took especial 
delight in the rich fields and meadowlands that formerly 
had been no more than a desolate waste of marsh. For 
the country where they lived had once been flooded in 
many places by the waters of the Bay of Fundy where the 
ocean tides sweep in with mighty power, rising as high as 
the tops of houses and rolling into the streams and rivers 

U7^ 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

until they too must rise and overflow their banks ; and the 
Acadians had built great dykes to guard against the tides 
in the manner of the people of Holland, draining the 
water from the marshes and allowing the land to dry be- 
neath the sun and wind until it had become so rich and 
green, with such delicious and abundant grass that cattle 
fattened there more quickly than anywhere else and the 
cows that were driven forth at dawn to graze upon those 
meadows returned at milking time with their udders 
filled almost to bursting. Dykes and meadows, however, 
were not the only signs in that fair country of the in- 
dustry and labor of the Acadians. They had planted 
fields of flax and orchards that in springtime sent the per- 
fume of their blossoms over all the land, and they made 
the valley that they lived in so trim and peaceful that it 
seemed to frighten away the fogs and storms of the North 
Atlantic. Clouds of mist from the ocean would often 
hover on the crests of the mountains about the valley, but 
never descended to blight the crops of the villages, and 
the storms of winter seemed to visit the farms of the 
Acadians less roughly than the homes of their neighbors 
in the country surrounding them. 

[38] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

The Acadians built their houses in the manner of 
their former homes in Europe with thatched roofs and 
dormer windows and frames of sturdy oak and chestnut 
wood, so that a stranger passing through their village,, 
might have fancied himself in Normandy or Brittany 
whence they came. Only one thing was lacking and this 
would have caused a stranger to wonder greatly, for they 
had neither locks to their doors nor bars for their win- 
dows, feeling not the slightest need to guard against their 
neighbors and with minds wholly free from fear and 
malice in all things. What belonged to one was shared 
by all his friends and everybody was so happy and con- 
tented that people to-day would have good reason to wish 
themselves equally fortunate. Every evening the maids 
and matrons of the village gathered in their doorways, 
spinning flax, exchanging gossip and greeting affection- 
ately the village priest when he came forth to walk 
among his people, and every evening, too, the laborers 
would be summoned from their work in the fields by the 
church bells ringing the Angelus. Then, as the sun was 
setting the blue smoke would rise in a hundred columns 
from the cottages to tell the entire countryside of cheer- 

[39] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ful homes and pleasant hearths of the happy Acadian 
farmers. 

Wealthiest of them all was Benedict Bellefontaine, 
a hale and hearty old man of seventy winters with snow- 
white hair and cheeks as brown as oak leaves. He was 
greatly respected in the village, not only because he was 
honest and kind and had amassed great riches, but be- 
cause his daughter, Evangeline, was the most beautiful 
maiden that the Acadians had ever seen. Her eyes were 
as black as thorn berries, yet tender and of starry bright- 
ness; her hair was a soft, glossy brown, lovely to look 
upon. As she bore the flagons of home-brewed ale to the 
harvesters in the fields there was something about her 
even fairer than her beautiful eyes and hair, something 
that the harvesters could not have described, but that 
caused them to rest on their scythes and gaze after her 
when she passed, and on Sundays, when the tone of the 
church bell was in the air, she seemed even lovelier as she 
walked down the long village street with her chaplet of 
beads and her missal, clad in her Norman cap and her 
blue kirtle and wearing the earrings that had been 
brought from France in days long gone by and that had 

[40] 



r 



B 




M -* 



'-,ri 



I 



^^-M 



t 



k 



r ) 



"down the long street she passed" — Page 142 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

been handed down from mother to daughter for genera- 
tions. On Sundays there appeared to rest about Evan- 
geline a celestial brightness, something holy and of saint- 
like radiance, and when she walked homeward serenely 
after confession it would seem like the ceasing of ex- 
quisite music when she had passed. 

The home of Evangeline and her father was the 
very sort of dwelling that one who knew the sturdy old 
farmer and his beautiful daughter would expect. It 
was strongly built of oaken rafters and it stood on the 
side of a high hill overlooking the sea. By the door was 
a large sycamore-tree with woodbine wreathed around its 
trunk, and the farmhouse had a roughly carven porch with 
seats enough to welcome many visitors. A footpath led 
from the house through a wide orchard, disappearing in 
the meadows that stretched beyond it, and beneath the 
branches of the sycamore-tree were beehives from which 
Farmer Benedict's table was supplied with the most de- 
licious honey. The hives were overhung by penthouses 
such as the traveler often sees in distant regions built 
over a poor box or above an image of the blessed virgin, 
Mary. Farther down on the hillside was the deep, cool 

[41] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



well with its moss-grown bucket bound with hoops of 
iron, with an ample trough for the horses standing 
near-by, and to the north of the house, shielding it from 
the storms and cutting blasts of winter, were the barns 
and the farmyard. There stood the broad wheeled wag- 
ons and the plows and harrows and all the implements 
that the Acadians used in laboring in the fields, and 
there, too, were the sheepfolds and the feathered king- 
dom of the lordly and insolent turkey-gobbler, while the 
cocks crowed with the selfsame voice that had startled 
the penitent Peter in ages long gone by. The barns al- 
most formed a village by themselves they were so many, 
and all of them were filled to bursting with dry, sweet- 
scented hay. A roof of thatch projected over each and a 
staircase led up to the well-filled, odorous corn lofts 
under the sheltering eaves. The dove-cote stood there 
also with its meek and innocent inmates murmuring con- 
stantly of love, and above the barns the noisy and gilded 
weathercocks spun to every breeze that stirred, and rat- 
tled and sang loudly when the wind changed. 

There on his sunny farm Benedict lived at peace with 
<jrod and the world, and his daughter Evangeline man- 
aged the affairs of his household. 

[42] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

It is not to be supposed that so lovely a maiden as 
Evangeline was to go unnoticed by the youths of the 
Acadian village, and in fact she had so many suitors that 
all the other girls, although many of them were beauti- 
ful and deserving of the strongest and most generous 
sweethearts, were in danger of being left without atten- 
tion because so many of the village lads had eyes for no 
one but Evangeline. Many a youth who knelt in church 
fixed his eyes on the daughter of Farmer Benedict far 
more often than on his missal book, and many a suitor 
came to her door in the twilight with a heart that beat 
more loudly than the knocker of iron when he heard the 
sound of her footsteps within coming to greet him. On 
the feast of the Patron Saint and on all the festivities 
that were indulged in by the village farmers some youth, 
grown bolder than the others, was pretty sure to press 
her hand while the villagers were dancing and to whis- 
per in her ear some word of love that seemed to form a 
part of the sounding music. But of all the youths that 
showed by word and look their admiration for Evan- 
geline, and of all the suitors that came to the house of 
Benedict to court her, only one was truly welcome in her 
sight. 

[43] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

This lucky one was Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of 
Basil the blacksmith. He had known and loved Evan- 
geline from early childhood, for their fathers were close 
friends and allowed their children to grow up as brother 
and sister. The boy and the girl had learned their let- 
ters out of the same book and were taught by the good 
priest, Father Felician, who was also the village teacher. 
And when their tasks were ended they would hurry hand 
in hand to Basil's forge to gaze upon the wonders that 
awaited them there, for they delighted to see the brawny 
smith take the hoof of a horse in his leather lap as a 
plaything and nail the shoe into place with swift, sure 
blows, and they loved to gaze upon the great heap of 
fiery cinders with the tire of a cart-wheel heated red hot 
in the heart of it, lying there like a coiled and lurid snake, 
casting a fierce glow upon their faces. On the long au- 
tumn evenings when everything had grown dark and 
when the smithy seemed bursting with the light that 
streamed from every chink and crevice, Gabriel and 
Evangeline would hasten there to warm themselves by 
the forge and to watch the puffing bellows drive the 
sparks to leap high in the darkness, and while they did 
so they would look upon Basil the blacksmith with great 

[44] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

round eyes of wonder, thinking him the strongest and 
the most marvelous man that they had ever seen. In- 
deed the two children were not far wrong in this surmise, 
the name of the smith being as widely honored in Grand- 
Pre as that of Benedict himself, for the blacksmith's 
trade was respected in the village as it had been by the 
people of all ages and nations, and Basil was a mighty 
and a kind-tempered man. 

Many other pleasures were shared by the two chil- 
dren, who dearly loved to go coasting in the winter time, 
and often rode on the same sled, bounding down the hill- 
side as swift as the dart of an eagle to glide away over 
the frozen meadows with shouts and laughter. When 
it rained they would play in the great, dim barns and 
walk along the rafters hunting for swallows' nests, 
where they hoped to find that wonderful stone that the 
swallow is said to bring in its bill from the seashore and 
keep in its nest to restore the sight of its fledglings. They 
believed the story and thought that whoever found the 
stone would be blessed with great good fortune through 
all the days of his life. But Gabriel and Evangeline 
were blessed with fortune even without it, for the boy 
became a tall, fine youth with a face so bright and cheer- 

[45] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ful as to gladden the hearts of all that saw him, while 
Evangeline grew into a woman with a woman's hopes 
and desires, and she was so lovely that the farmers called 
her the "Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" which they believed 
to be the most wonderful sunshine of all, ripening their 
crops and loading their orchards with apples. 



[46] 



II 

THE time of the year had come when the nights 
grow cold and long and the sun, retreating to 
the south, enters the sign of the zodiac that is called 
the Scorpion. Above the village of Grand-Pre flew 
thousands of birds of passage shunning the icy bays 
of the north and seeking tropical islands and warm 
sunshine thousands of miles away. Many signs fore- 
told that the coming winter would be unusually cold, 
for the bees, with prophetic instinct of future want, 
filled their hives with honey to overflowing and the 
fur of the foxes was so thick that the Indian hunters 
declared the winter season would be bitter. Har- 
vests were gathered in and wood was cut in great 
abundance and the villagers all hastened to com- 
plete their tasks before the snow and ice should come 
upon them. For even in September the wild winds wres- 
tled with the trees of the forest as Jacob wrestled with 
the angel; and at dawn and in the evening came the icy 
breath of the north. 

[47] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Then, like the lull before the gale, arrived the beau- 
tiful season that the pious Acadian farmers called the 
"Summer of All Saints." The air was filled with a 
dreamy and magical light and the hills and meadows 
seemed to reassume the freshness of springtime. Even 
the restless heart of the ocean was for a moment consoled 
and the Basin of Minas lay like a still, blue lake beneath 
the quiet sky. The air was so calm and soft that all 
sounds seemed to blend into gentle music. The voices 
of children at play, the crowing of the cocks in the farm- 
yards, the whir of the wings of pigeons and their cooing 
in the dove cotes became as subdued and low in tone as so 
many murmurs of love ; and the great sun beamed upon 
the country through the golden vapors of autumn. 
Hills and fields were beautiful to behold in that mellow 
sunlight, for the forests arrayed themselves in robes of 
russet and scarlet and yellow, and each tree flashed like 
a flame of the sun itself. When the leaves were wet in 
the morning dew they sparkled as brightly as the pre- 
cious stones that the Persians hung upon the plane-tree 
thousands of years ago when the mighty king, Xerxes, 
while traveling through Asia Minor, was so impressed 

[48] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

with its beauty that he ordered his followers to adorn its 
boughs with jewels. 

Day had departed and the evening star burned more 
and more brightly in the sky as twilight deepened on 
the earth. The lowing of the cattle sounded loud 
through the quiet air as they walked homeward, pawing 
the ground and tossing their heads and breathing the 
freshness of the evening. First of them all came Evan- 
geline's beautiful heifer as white as snow, bearing a tin- 
kling cowbell and proud of the ribbon that her mistress 
had attached to her collar; and following came the shep- 
herd with his flock from the seaside where the sheep 
had found their favorite pasturage. The shepherd's 
dog brought up the rear full of importance as he urged 
the bleating stragglers onward, waving his bushy tail and 
trotting behind them with a lordly manner, superbly 
proud that to him alone belonged the task of guarding 
them. For he was lord of the flocks when the shepherd 
slept and their only protector when the wolves could be 
heard howling in the forests through the starry silence of 
the night. After the sheep had passed the wagons came, 
loaded with briny hay that filled the air with its odor, 

[49] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

and the horses neighed cheerily at the prospect of their 
stables, shaking the dew from their fetlocks and manes 
and making the crimson tassels that adorned their heavy- 
wooden saddles nod as brightly as do hollyhocks, heavy 
with blossoms, when shaken by the wind. In the mean- 
while the cows stood patiently to be milked, yielding 
their udders to the milkmaid's hand, while the foaming 
streamlets descended into the sounding pails in loud and 
regular cadence, and the lowing of cattle and peals of 
laughter came from the farmyard. There followed the 
closing of barn doors and the rattle of wooden bars, and 
at last the calm silence of evening stole upon the entire 
village. 

That evening was to be a notable one for Benedict 
and Evangeline, for the maiden's betrothal to Gabriel 
was formally to be sealed with a written contract in which 
the amount of her dowry was to be decided on. This was 
the custom of the Acadians, and the fathers of the two 
lovers were to meet that very evening with the notary 
public of the village and determine how many sheep and 
cattle Evangeline should bring to her young husband and 
how many of Benedict's goodly acres should be given to 
Gabriel to help him start in life on his own account. 

[50] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Farmer Benedict was seated in his great armchair be- 
side his hearth waiting for his visitors, and Evangeline 
sat beside her father spinning flax for the loom that 
stood in the corner behind her. The fire cast a warm and 
ruddy glow throughout the room and the faces of carven 
oak upon the arms of Benedict's chair seemed to laugh 
in the flickering light as though they knew what business 
was in store and how pleasant it would be for the old 
farmer to see his daughter settled and happy with her 
lover. The firelight was reflected brightly from row 
upon row of pewter plates on the dresser that were pol- 
ished until they seemed like the shields of an army ad- 
vancing in the sunlight, and Benedict's huge, misshapen 
shadow danced on the wall, vanishing into darkness with 
strange gestures as the flames leaped from the birch logs 
on the hearth. Benedict was happy and glad at heart and 
hummed to himself the fragments of old songs that he 
used to hear in his boyhood — ditties and Christmas carols 
that his fathers loved to sing in their Norman orchards 
and sunny Burgundian vineyards long before they heard 
of the land of Acadia. While the old man sang, the drone 
of Evangeline's spinning wheel seemed to bear him ac- 
companiment and to unite the fragments of his song; and 

[51] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

as footfalls may be heard in church when the choir ceases 
its chant or as the words of the priest come sounding 
from the altar through the silence, the clock could be 
heard ticking with measured cadence in every pause of 
Benedict's singing. 

While Evangeline and her father were sitting in this 
manner footsteps were heard without and the latch 
of the door was suddenly lifted. Benedict knew by 
the sound of the hobnailed shoes that it was his 
friend, Basil, the blacksmith, and Evangeline with 
a quickly beating heart guessed rightly that her lover 
Gabriel accompanied his father. As the door swung 
open and Basil and Gabriel stepped into the room, Bene- 
dict rose from his seat and stepped forward to greet them. 

"Welcome," cried he, as they paused on the thresh- 
old, "Welcome, Basil, my friend. Take your seat on the 
settle near the chimney-side which always seems empty 
without you, and take from the shelf your pipe and to- 
bacco box. Never do you seem so like yourself as when 
your friendly and jovial face gleams through the curling 
smoke as round and red as the harvest moon through the 
mist of the marshes. Seat yourself and let Gabriel do 
likewise." 

[52] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

"We greet you, Benedict," exclaimed the black- 
smith, taking his accustomed seat with a smile of pure 
contentment, "you are always cheerful and always must 
have your joke and your song, although your neighbors 
are filled with gloomy forebodings and see nothing but 
ruin ahead of them. Even when there is just cause for 
sorrow you continue to be as happy as though you had 
just picked up a horseshoe and believed in the good for- 
tune it would bring you." 

He paused for a minute to take the pipe that Evan- 
geline brought him, and, lighting it with a coal from the 
hearth, continued with a shake of his head and a trace of 
sadness in his voice : 

"During the past four days the English ships have 
ridden at anchor in the mouth of the river Gaspereau, 
and their cannon are pointed at our village. What their 
design may be I do not know, but we are commanded 
one and all to meet in the church to-morrow when the 
will of the English shall be proclaimed to us and become 
the law of our land. Alas, Benedict, the people are 
greatly afraid and believe that the English intend some 
great mischief against us." 

"Tut, tut,"^^aid the jovial farmer, who hated to hear 

[S3] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

bad news. "They should not take such a gloomy view of 
things, friend Basil. Neither should you encourage them 
in their fear, for I see that doubt has entered your heart 
also and that you are sorely troubled. Perhaps some 
friendly purpose brings these vessels to our shores. Per- 
haps the English harvests have been blighted by untimely 
rains or heat and they seek nothing more of us than leave 
to feed their cattle and children from our barns that sre 
bursting with plenty. I for one do not believe the Eng- 
lish ships will harm us." 

"God grant that you may be right," said Basil with 
another shake of his head, "but the people of the village 
think far differently and by my faith I agree with 
them! Our last war with England is not forgotten. 
Every one remembers the siege of Louisburg and the en- 
counters of Beau Sejour and Port Royal. Many of our 
neighbors have already fled from their houses to hide in 
the forest and are lurking there with anxious hearts as to 
the fate in store for us to-morrow. The English have 
taken away our guns and all our weapons and have left 
us nothing but the mower's scythe and my own black- 
smith's sledge-hammer." 

"Why, then," said the careless Benedict, apparently 

[54] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

not the least disturbed by what the blacksmith told him, 
"what cause for -fear is there in that? Are not we safer 
unarmed in the midst of our flocks and cornfields than 
our fathers were in their forts when besieged by the Eng- 
lish cannon? Think how peaceful we are with our broad 
meadows about us. Not even the boisterous ocean can 
penetrate through our dykes. Come, my friend, take 
heart and let no shadow of your foolish sorrow fall upon 
this household, for to-night our children seal their be- 
trothal and their house and barn are already stocked with 
provisions for a twelvemonth. The house is as stout 
and strong as the merry lads of the village could build 
it and Rene Leblanc, the notary, will soon be here with 
his papers and inkhorn to see that everything is done as 
it should be, according to the law. Let us rejoice in the 
happiness of our children and forget the evil that may 
never befall us." 

A blush came to Evangeline's cheek as she sat apart 
with Gabriel with her hand clasped in his. It grew and 
deepened as her father spoke and continued when the 
little group had become silent, for footsteps sounded on 
the porch without, and the notary public entered. 



[55] 



Ill 

RENE LEBLANC, the notary, was bent with age as 
the oar is bent that toils in the surf of the ocean, 
yet his age had not broken him and he was still as strong 
as many a younger man. Long shocks of yellow hair, like 
the silken floss of the maize, hung over his shoulders. His 
forehead was high and great horn spectacles sat astride 
on his nose, giving him a look of the deepest wisdom. 
He was the father of twenty children and more than a 
hundred grandchildren loved to ride upon his knee and 
play with his great watch while he told them marvelous 
stories, for the old man had been a soldier in his day and 
liad fought in the wars. 

Once he had even been cast into prison where he 
languished four long years, accused of being friendly to 
the English with whom the French were fighting at the 
time, and in his later days he loved to tell of this adven- 
ture and of others that had befallen him. He became 
famous as the village story-teller, loved by every one 
that knew him, but endeared especially to the hearts of 
all the children. He was ripe in wisdom, knowing 

[56] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

every village legend by heart, and he would tell tales 
of the strange wolf-beast called the Loup-garou that was 
said to haunt the forest, and of the goblin that came in 
the darkest hours of the night to water the horses. Often 
he would frighten little children nearly out of their wits 
by describing to them the white Letiche, the ghost of a 
child that had died before it was christened, and had been, 
condemned to become invisible and haunt the rooms of 
children ever since. Hundreds of wonderful fables 
flowed from his lips, for he knew what the oxen talked 
about in the stable on Christmas eve, and how the fever 
might be cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell and kept 
near the bedside of a sick person — and he knew the mar- 
velous powers of the four-leafed clover and the horse- 
shoe and everything strange and wonderful that had ever 
been written down in village traditions. 

Up rose Basil the blacksmith as the notary entered, 
knocking the ashes from his pipe and extending his right 
hand in welcome. The thought of the English ships was 
still troubling him and forgetful of Benedict's reproof 
this was the first thing that he spoke about to the no- 
tary. 

"Tell me. Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "if you 

[57] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

have heard the village gossip about the ships that are 
now in the harbor and if you know their errand or any 
news of them. My heart troubles me I must confess, and 
I cannot imagine why they have come to our shores un- 
less they have some wicked design upon us." 

"Gossip in plenty have I heard," answered the no- 
tary, "and yet, Basil, I can tell no better than the others 
what the errand of these ships may be. I do not think, 
that they plan to harm us, for our countries are now at 
peace and they have no reason for so doing." 

"God's name I" shouted the hasty blacksmith who 
was somewhat quick-tempered and irascible. "Must we 
look for the why and the wherefore whenever danger 
threatens us^? Injustice is done every day and might is 
far too often the only excuse the wicked can give for all 
their mischief." 

Old Rene Leblanc did not heed the blacksmith's sud- 
den burst of temper, but said calmly: 

"Man is unjust I know too well, but God is just and 
Ms will must always triumph in the end. I remember a 
story of God's justice that often consoled me when I was 
a prisoner in the old French fort at Port Royal." 

The blacksmith and Farmer Benedict knew only too 
well v/hat was coming, for the story that the notary had 

[58] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

in mind was one of his prime favorites and he loved to 
repeat it whenever his neighbors complained that in- 
justice had been done to them. The people of Grand- 
Pre knew it by heart, but none the less they always lis- 
tened attentively when it pleased the aged man to tell 
it to them. 

"Long ago," said the notary, "there was an ancient 
city whose name I cannot think of for the moment, and 
in the center of the public square there stood a column 
on the top of which was a statue all of brass. This statue 
was the figure of Justice with the scales in its left hand 
and the sword in its right as justice is always represented. 
It had been placed in the square to show that order and 
obedience ruled the country, presiding over the laws of 
the land as well as the hearts and homes of the people. 
It came to pass, however, that the laws of the city became 
corrupted and that the statue had no meaning for the in- 
habitants. They allowed it to become dull and tarnished 
until only the sword remained bright, and the birds be- 
came so bold as to build their nests in the scales that the 
statue held in its left hand. The weaker among the peo- 
ple of the city were oppressed and the stronger ruled with 
a rod of iron until no man might seek redress against his 
neighbor unless he was rich and powerful, while inno- 

[59] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

cent persons were often punished for crimes that they had 
not committed, and nobody dared to denounce the wrong 
or seek redress for the evil deeds that were done in the 
name of the law. 

"It chanced that a nobleman who lived in the city 
lost a beautiful pearl necklace and that he became very 
angry in consequence, believing it to have been stolen. 
He questioned all his retainers as to the theft and finally 
suspected a poor orphan girl who lived in his household 
as a serving maid. She was tried for her supposed of- 
fense and being unable to show that she had not stolen 
the necklace, was condemned to be put to death in the 
public square at the foot of the statue of Justice. A great 
crowd assembled to see her meet her doom, which she did 
with patience and bravery; and as her innocent spirit 
ascended to the throne of her Father in Heaven, lo and 
behold, a tempest rose over the city with thunder and 
lightning, and a thunderbolt struck the statue of brass 
and broke off the scales that were in the left hand, hurl- 
ing them down to the pavement. In the hollow of the 
scales was the nest of a magpie and what do you believe 
the people found there'? Nothing else than the pearl 
necklace they believed the maiden had stolen. It had 

[60] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

been taken by a magpie and was woven by the mischiev- 
ous bird into the clay-built walls of its nest." 

The old notary gazed triumphantly about him as he 
finished, believing that he had completely answered all 
the fears of the blacksmith, but Basil, although silenced 
was not convinced, nor did he see what Rene's story had 
to do with the English ships that were in the harbor. 
Sulkily he sought for some ready answer but seemed un- 
able to find one, and his gloomy thoughts were written 
on his face as vapors are frozen in fantastic shapes upon 
the window-panes in winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brass lamp on the table 
and brought to her father and his guests the home-brewed, 
nut-brown ale so strong that it had become famous 
throughout the village, and she filled the pewter tankard 
to overflowing, while the notary drew his papers and ink- 
horn from his pocket and placing them on the table wrote 
in his clear, bold hand the date of the betrothal and the 
age of the two lovers, duly naming the number of sheep 
and cattle that should become a part of Evangeline's 
dowry and proceeding in an orderly manner in all things 
until his business was completed. Then the great seal 
of the law was set like a sun upon the margin of the doc- 

[6i] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ument and Farmer Benedict paid the notary three times 
the fee required, flinging the pieces of silver upon the 
table, so that they rang loud and spun around as they 
fell from his open hand. Old Rene Leblanc pocketed 
the money and blessed the bride and bridegroom, lifting 
high the tankard of ale Evangeline had poured for him 
and drinking to their welfare. Then he wiped the foam 
from his lip and after a solemn bow took his departure, 
leaving the others to sit musing silently by the fireside. 
No sound was heard except the crackling of the logs 
upon the hearth until Evangeline drew forth the checker- 
board from its accustomed place and the blacksmith and 
her father fell to playing. Soon the game waxed high 
as they contended against each other in the utmost friend- 
ship, chuckling at every lucky play and laughing out- 
right at some successful maneuver when a man was 
crowned or a breach was made in the king row. In the 
meanwhile the two lovers had seated themselves near a 
window where the firelight fell less strongly upon them 
and they whispered together tenderly as they watched the 
moon rise over the pallid sea and beheld the silver mist 
advance along the meadows. And as they sat wrapped 
in each other and whispering words of love they saw the 

[62] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

countless stars begin to show themselves in the infinite 
meadows of heaven, blossoming there like the forget-me- 
nots of the angels. 

Evening passed and at the hour of nine the village 
curfew sounded from the belfry when all persons young 
and old must seek their rest. Basil and Gabriel rose 
and took their departure, Gabriel lingering at the door 
to whisper many a farewell word and sweet good-night 
into the maiden's ear until her heart beat high with glad- 
ness. Then the embers that glowed upon the hearth were 
carefully covered with ashes and the tread of Farmer 
Benedict resounded on the oaken stairway as he mounted 
to his rest. Soon Evangeline followed him, bearing a 
lamp and moving up the staircase luminous in the dark- 
ness, that seemed to be lighted not so much by the lamp 
she bore as by her shining face all radiant with the glad- 
ness of her love and the thought of the morrow's joy when 
the wedding festival should be celebrated. Up she 
mounted, passing through the dark hall to her chamber, 
a simple room, flooded by the moonlight that showed the 
snow-white curtains and the high and ample clothespress 
on whose roomy shelves were folded carefully the linen 
and woolen stuffs that she had woven with her own hand. 

[63] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

They were a portion of the dowry she was to bring to her 
young husband and a part that she deemed even 
better than the flocks and herds of her father because 
it showed her industry and skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, her heart and eyes 
obeying the power of the moonlight that streamed 
through the window mellow and radiant, surround- 
ing her with its glory, and she stood with naked, 
snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber, 
beautiful to behold. Little did she dream that Gabriel 
had not departed when he bade her good-night at the 
doorway, but lingered in the orchard underneath her win- 
dow, watching for the gleam of her lamp and the outline 
of her shadow on the curtain. Yet, as she stood there her 
thoughts were all of him, and at times a feeling of sad- 
ness came like a veil of mist upon her mind as though she 
feared that some misfortune was to overtake them both. 
Gazing from the window she saw the moon pass serenely 
from the bosom of a cloud with one bright star that 
seemed to follow in its footsteps, even as Hagar passed 
from Abraham's tent to wander forth with Ishmael, and 
as the moon moved out into the open sky Evangeline's 
sadness vanished. 

[64] 



IV 

ON the next morning the sun rose pleasantly over 
the village and the Basin of Minas gleamed blue 
and clear beneath the brilliant sky, beautiful to behold in 
the silent air with the images of the ships that were riding 
at anchor mirrored on the water's tranquil surface. Life 
had been astir in the village since cockcrow and labor 
with noisy clamor had called the young and the 
old to come forth into the golden and sunlit morning. 
But every task was laid aside when the merry Acadian 
country folk commenced to come from their distant farms 
and from the neighboring hamlets, brightening all the 
air with their many-colored costumes and seeming to 
gladden the heart of the day itself with their laughter 
and cheerful greetings. Groups of young people flocked 
over the green meadows toward the village, and wagon 
after wagon filled with holiday makers rolled across the 
greensward where no road was to be seen except the track 
of their own wheels upon the grass. Soon the streets of 
the village were thronged with people and noisy groups 

[65] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

clustered about the house doors, sitting in the welcome 
sunshine and rejoicing and gossiping together. All 
things were in common among those simple people who 
lived like brothers and who shared not only their belong- 
ings but their joys and sorrows also with all their neigh- 
bors. It seemed as if their hospitality and kindness 
could not flow more freely until one found himself be- 
neath the roof of Farmer Benedict, where welcome and 
plenty were even more abundant than in the rest of 
the village. This was scarcely to be wondered at, how- 
ever, because Evangeline stood near her father welcom- 
ing his guests, and her face was bright with smiles as she 
gave each newcomer some kindly word of greeting that 
made him smile with gladness in his turn. For the cup 
tasted sweeter to Benedict's guests because it was be- 
stowed upon them by the hand of his daughter, that 
seemed to bless it as she gave it to them. 

Then came the Feast of Betrothal. It was spread 
beneath the open sky in the perfumed air of the orchard, 
where the boughs of every tree were bent almost to break- 
ing beneath their burden of golden fruit. In the shadow 
of the porch sat the village priest and the notary with 
Farmer Benedict near-by and the sturdy blacksmith., 

[66] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Basil, seated beside him. Not far off from them, close to 
the beehives and the cider-press, old Michael, the fiddler, 
had been placed, and his heart was as bright and gay as 
the splendid waistcoat that he had put on for the occasion. 
His jolly face glowed like a burning coal when the ashes 
have been blown from the embers and his long, white 
hair waved in the morning wind beneath the flickering 
shadows of the leaves in the bright sunshine. Michael, 
although old, was an ardent musician and accompanied 
the vibrant scraping of his fiddle with the merriest of 
songs. Every now and then he would beat time to the 
music with his wooden shoes, nodding his head in the 
meanwhile with great gusto, and before long he had set 
the guests beside themselves with the rhythm of his play- 
ing until they could remain seated no longer. With one 
accord they rose and fell to dancing. The music sounded 
faster and faster and their feet whirled merrily and more 
merrily. Madly they leaped in the dizzy reel under the 
orchard trees and down the path to the meadows, old 
men and young, girls and matrons, lovers and their sweet- 
hearts, while the romping children jumped and whirled 
and tumbled in their midst. Madly the hours passed, 
and Benedict's eye became bright as he beheld the pleas- 

[6/1 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ure of his guests while Basil's honest face was all aglow 
with pride and happiness, for he could see that his son, 
Gabriel, was the noblest of all the assembled youths, just 
as Evangeline was the loveliest among the maidens. 

Thus the morning passed away and suddenly with 
loud and discordant summons the church bell clanged 
from its tower in peremptory command and a drum-beat 
rolled across the meadows. The Acadians one and all 
were compelled to leave their feasting and merry mak- 
ing, for the hour had come when the will of the English 
was to be made known to them. They assembled with 
fear and misgiving that was in no way lessened when they 
saw the church surrounded with soldiers who allowed 
no one to enter there but the farmers themselves, the 
young men and the heads of families, while the women 
and children were compelled to wait in the churchyard 
without, where they spent the time in bringing forth 
fresh garlands of leaves and evergreens to decorate the 
headstones of the graves. In the meanwhile the men 
within sat silently or whispered to each other with bated 
breath in bitter misgiving as to the fate that might be in 
store for them. 

Then came another clamorous beating of drums and 

[68] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

a file of soldiers from the ships marched haughtily into 
the church, closing the ponderous oaken door in the faces 
of the poor women without, who had crowded at their 
heels to hear and see what was about to happen. The 
drums did not cease beating even after they had entered, 
but echoed from the walls in insolent clangor until the 
commander of the soldiers in his scarlet coat ascended the 
steps of the altar and showed to the frightened Acadians 
the royal commission with its seals to prove that he was 
acting through the order of the English king. 

"Let there be silence," commanded the officer, "and 
hear what I have to say. You have been gathered here 
by the order of His Majesty who has treated you with 
every kindness and forbearance up to the present day, 
while you have constantly returned evil for his good and 
have shown yourselves too ready to disobey him. Let 
your own hearts tell you if my words are not truly spoken, 
and ask yourselves if you have been loyal to the English 
king whom you have sworn to serve. My present errand 
is most painful to me and will prove itself more grievous 
still to you. Yet I must bow to the will of my king and 
obey him as you will be forced to do even more strin- 
gently than I myself. Know then that King George de- 

[69] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

clares your lands and homes and cattle a forfeit to the 
crown, while you yourselves shall one and all be taken 
away from this country and banished to other lands. In 
the meanwhile I shall keep you here as prisoners in the 
king's name." 

For a moment after the officer ceased speaking there 
was absolute silence, the unhappy Acadians being too 
amazed to realize fully and in a moment what a terrible 
fate had fallen upon them. But then, as when a deadly 
hailstorm bursts on a summer afternoon, beating down 
the farmer's corn and shattering his windows, hiding the 
sun in darkness and casting ruin and desolation on all 
the earth, the words that had just been spoken fell on 
their hearts in all their deadly import and a wail of sor- 
row and anger rose through the church. Moved as by 
one impulse the terrified people rushed to the door- 
way hoping to make their escape, but they found it 
barred and guarded by the soldiers who drove them 
back with their bayonets, and the holy house of 
prayer reechoed to wild outcries and fierce impreca- 
tions as the prisoners were forced into its center. 
Then the figure of Basil the blacksmith could be seen 
towering above the heads of the people as a spar rises on 

[70] 




'there at the door they stood with wondering eyes to behold him 

— Page 146 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the waves of a stormy ocean and his voice could be heard 
in bellowing thunder above the tumult, crying: 

"Down with the British tyrants I Death to these 
foreign soldiers who would seize our homes and our har- 
vests! We never swore allegiance to them I" 

He would have said much more, but the merciless 
hand of a soldier struck him heavily across the mouth, 
and he was dragged down to the pavement. 

In the midst of all this strife and terror and con- 
fusion, the door of the chancel opened and the village 
priest, Father Felician, entered with a grave and serious 
mien and slowly ascended the steps of the altar whence 
the arrogant English officer had just delivered his ter- 
rible words. The face of the priest was sad and he raised 
his hand with a solemn gesture that awed the shouting 
throng into instant silence. Then he spoke to his people 
in so deep and serious a voice, with such measured and 
sorrowful accents, that each word could be heard as dis- 
tinctly as the striking of a clock after the alarum of the 
tocsin. 

"What is this you do, my children?" the priest re- 
proved them. "What madness has suddenly possessed 
you? I have labored among you for more than forty 

[71] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

years and had taught you, I believed, to love one an- 
other in deed as well as in word. Has not our Holy 
Father bidden us to love our enemies? Is this the way 
that you repay my toil and prayer, my constant vigils and 
privation? Look where the crucified image of Christ 
gazes down upon you from His cross and behold the 
meekness and holy compassion that rest in those sorrow- 
ful eyes. See how those lips still seem to repeat the 
prayer, 'O Father, forgive them,' as we shall now repeat 
it in this hour when the wicked assail and injure us." 

Thus did he rebuke them briefly with sorrow and 
compassion in his voice. But few as his words were they 
sank deeply into the hearts of his people and sobs of con- 
trition as well as of grief commenced to be heard from the 
assemblage before him, succeeding the noisy and pas- 
sionate outbreak against the wicked injustice of the Eng- 
lish. One and all they sank to their knees and repeated 
with their priest the prayer, "O Father, forgive them," 
while the soldiers that were still in the church looked at 
one another uneasily as the words of their supplication 
were reechoed from the walls. Then came the evening 
service and the tapers gleamed from the altar. The voice 
of Father Felician was deep and fervent and the people 

[72] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

responded from the very depths of their hearts. They 
sang the Ave Maria as with one voice, and when they 
knelt in prayer they felt their souls triumphant and ex- 
alted through the ardor of their devotion. 

If the evil tidings had smitten the imprisoned farm- 
ers sorely, the women and children without were far more 
badly frightened as they wandered wailing from house 
to house a prey to the wildest rumors as to what was 
to become of them and ignorant of the fate that had be- 
fallen their husbands and fathers who were held impris- 
oned in the church. 

Evangeline stood long in her father's doorway, 
shielding her eyes from the the level rays of the setting 
sun that lit the long village street with mysterious splen- 
dor, gilding the thatch of every peasant's cottage until 
it shone like a roof of gold, and emblazoning its glory in 
reflected flame upon the window-panes. Indoors the 
maiden had spread the snowy cloth upon the table where 
waited the wheaten loaf, the fragrant honey, the tankard 
of ale and the cheese fresh from the dairy against Farmer 
Benedict's return, while his great armchair at the head 
of the board seemed to expect him. 

The sunset cast the long shadows of trees upon the: 

[73] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



meadows and the dimness of twilight commenced to fall 
upon the village as Evangeline waited there with a 
shadow on her spirit even deeper than that of the ap- 
proaching evening. Yet it seemed as though her unhap- 
piness was graciously transformed within her heart, for 
charity, patience and forgiveness rose to give her strength 
for her coming trouble. And when the great sun sank to 
rest, veiling the light of his face in golden and glimmer- 
ing vapors, Evangeline left her father's house and wan- 
dered into the village, consoling the frightened women 
and cheering their disconsolate hearts with the utmost 
kindness. But when they departed over the darkening 
meadows, driven back to their homes by their household 
cares and the needs of their hungry children who were 
clamoring for their suppers, the maiden could no longer 
contain herself, but hastened to the church where she 
knew that Gabriel was held a prisoner. 

The churchyard was still and dark and no light or 
sound of any voice came to her ear as she looked and lis- 
tened at the doors and windows. Then, overcome by 
emotion, she cried aloud, calling the name of her lover, 
but no answer came from within and it seemed to her 
that the church had become a tomb for the living even 

[74] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

more gloomy than the graves for the dead that sur- 
rounded her in the churchyard. Slowly she returned to 
the empty house of her father where the fire was smol- 
dering on the hearth and the supper stood untasted on 
the table. Each room was empty and desolate, haunted 
by the phantoms of terrors that seemed all the more 
menacing because she did not know just what forms they 
would take or what misfortunes might be in store for her. 
Her footstep echoed hollow and forlorn on the oaken 
stairway and on the floor of her chamber above, and in 
the middle of the night she heard the rustling rain fall 
loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree that 
stood outside of her window. Lightning flashed and the 
stern voice of the thunder rumbled in the heavens above, 
telling her that God was on his throne, governing the 
world that he had created. As Evangeline thought of 
God, she remembered the story told by the aged notary 
of the statue of Justice and the vindication of the poor 
girl who had suffered death beneath it when wrongfully 
accused of theft. As the story came into her mind she 
was troubled no longer, but with a quieted soul slept 
peacefully until the morning. 



[75] 



V 

FOUR days passed and still the Acadian farmers 
were held prisoners in the church, while the women 
were compelled to pack the household goods that the 
English had consented they might take away with them 
into exile. Four times the sun rose and set and on the 
fifth morning soon after the cock had crowed as cheerily 
as though nothing sad and terrible was about to happen, 
a silent and mournful procession came from the neigh- 
boring hamlets and farms, headed toward the seashore 
where the boats from the English vessels were drawn up 
in a row awaiting them. There were ponderous wagons 
filled with household furniture, each one of them driven 
by a sorrowing woman with her children walking beside 
her, or by some maiden weary with her efforts in tasks that 
were beyond her strength and not even knowing if her 
father or brothers were still alive or if she would set eyes 
on them again. Little children trooped together, some 
clutching fragments of toys that they could not bear to 
part with and crying because they were afraid of the red 
coats and the muskets and drums of the English soldiers. 

[76] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

And many a time, as the doleful procession wound its way 
toward the shore, some woman would turn in her seat as 
she drove the wagon to look back with tears upon the 
home that she was leaving forever. 

In this way the weak and unfortunate were hurried 
by the rough soldiers to the seashore at the mouth of the 
river Gaspereau, where their belongings were stacked in 
piles on the sand and the waiting boats commenced to 
carry them to the vessels. All day long the boats plied 
back and forth and all day long the wagons came and 
went from the deserted village. Late in the afternoon 
there was a beating of drums in the churchyard and the 
women and children thronged in the direction of the 
sound. The doors swung suddenly apart and the guard 
of English soldiers marched into the open, while amid 
them, walking in a gloomy procession, came the long im- 
prisoned but patient Acadian farmers. Slowly they de- 
scended the steps of the church, singing as they came, 
even as pilgrims sing when far from home, striving to 
forget their weariness with music. First came the young 
men, singing with tremulous lips a Catholic chant and 
after them the older ones who took up the burden of their 
hymn, while the women who stood by the wayside joined 

l77l 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the sacred psalm as the men passed. Even the birds that 
flew in the sunlight above mingled their notes with the 
sound of the song that rose to them, and their singing 
floated down from the heights of the air like the voices 
of departed spirits. 

Halfway between the shore and the church Evan- 
geline waited for her father and for Gabriel, not weeping 
and overcome with grief as were some of the others, but 
strong in the hour of her affliction with many a kind and 
consoling word for her unhappy neighbors. Finally 
she heard the sound of the men's voices and saw Gabriel 
in the foremost rank with his face pale from emotion. 
Then for the first time tears filled her eyes and she ran 
eagerly to meet him, clasping his hands in hers and rest- 
ing her head upon his shoulder while she whispered to 
him : "Oh, Gabriel, be of good heart, for if we truly love 
each other nothing can truly harm us, no matter what 
misfortunes we must suffer." 

Evangeline smiled through her tears as she spoke, 
but suddenly the smile ceased when she beheld her father 
slowly advancing toward them. For the ruddy, happy 
face was pale, and the cheerful demeanor that she knew 
so well and that Farmer Benedict's neighbors likewise 

[78] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

had known and loved, had utterly disappeared. The 
glow had faded from his cheek with the fire from his eye 
and his footstep seemed to have become heavier with the 
weight of the heavy heart that burdened his bosom. He 
hardly lifted his eyes to greet his daughter, remaining 
silent and passive while she placed her arms about his 
neck and strove to cheer his spirit by whispering words of 
endearment where all words of comfort failed. And 
holding his hand in hers she walked on with him as the 
procession slowly moved to the river's mouth. 

On the shore there was the greatest disorder and tu- 
mult, for the soldiers now were forcing the villagers into 
the boats with little heed as to who was placed there. 
Wives were parted from their husbands and carried to 
different vessels, and mothers saw too late that their 
children had been left behind and cried out wildly in 
their grief as they saw their little ones weeping and lift- 
ing their arms to them from the shore. Basil and 
Gabriel were carried away to different ships, while Evan- 
geline stood on the beach with her father waiting for her 
own turn to come and fearing lest she be separated from 
the old man who needed her so sorely. The task of em- 
barking the unfortunates was not half done when the sun 

[79] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

went down and twilight darkened about them, while the 
ocean in the mighty ebb of the tide retreated far from the 
shore, leaving the boats of the sailors stranded on the 
sands and rendering all further labor for that night im- 
possible. Then in the midst of the wagons and piled 
up furniture the remainder of the Acadians made their 
camp until the dawn while armed sentinels stood on 
guard near-by to see that none of them might escape and 
seek concealment in the forest. Fires were built on the 
shore and the villagers gathered about the flames to warm 
themselves and cook what food they had brought with 
them. No lights were to be seen in the silent village, 
and for the first time in many years no sound of church 
bells floated from the steeple. Slowly the darkness of 
night descended and the leisurely herds of cattle returned 
from the pastures, seeking the accustomed hand to milk 
them, and the shelter of the barns. They lowed as they 
waited at the barred gates of the farmyards, and tossed 
their heads in impatience, half afraid of the sudden neg- 
lect and the silence that reigned in the deserted streets of 
the village. 

While the cattle bellowed for their mangers, the 
fires of driftwood that had been built on the sand from 

[So] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the weather-beaten ribs of vessels wrecked in former tem- 
pests, showed the gloomy figures and the sorrowful faces 
of the remaining Acadians ; and from the groups that clus- 
tered about the flames came the sobbing of women and 
the saddened voices of men, and the wailing of little 
children who were cold and frightened or whose parents 
had been torn away from them and thrust into some one 
of the English ships. Father Felician wandered from 
fire to fire consoling his people as best he could, blessing 
those that still remained together and comforting the 
less fortunate whose loved ones had already been taken 
from them. It was a sad sight to see the faithful priest, 
his face gray and worn from weariness, toiling incessantly 
to lighten the burden of others and seeming to share the 
sorrows of every family. 

As Father Felician came and went among his people 
he approached the place where Evangeline sat with her 
father, and his heavy heart sank even lower as he beheld 
in the flickering light of the fire the altered face of the 
old farmer. Benedict would not stir or speak, but sat 
looking at the embers with a vacant stare, while Evange- 
line vainly offered him food and strove to cheer his heart 
with comforting words and caresses. The priest also 

[8i] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

tried to drive away the old man's sorrow by murmuring 
a blessing over him, and would have added more but that 
his own heart was too full for words, causing his voice to 
halt like that of a little child when it sees some terrible 
scene of sorrow that it cannot understand. Therefore 
the priest said nothing but laid his hand in silence on 
Evangeline's head as she sat beside her father, and lift- 
ing his tear-filled eyes to the silent stars as they moved 
on their way in the heavens untroubled by the griefs and 
wrong-doing of mortal men, the holy father prayed for 
Benedict's soul that he knew must soon be quitting them 
for heaven. The priest had seen upon the face of his 
friend the signs of approaching death, and he felt that 
the next shock or sorrow must certainly be fatal to him. 
Looking at Evangeline he saw that she did not realize 
that her father was so soon to be taken from her, and he 
knew not if it would be wise to tell her of his fears or 
wait until the greater blow should fall upon her while 
she still was unaware. In his doubt and distress he sat 
on the sand beside her and suddenly fell to weeping; and 
at the sight of the priest's tears Evangeline's courage 
failed her and throwing herself on the sand she sobbed in 
terror. 

[82] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



Suddenly a light was seen from the direction of the 
village — a light as ruddy as that of the blood red moon 
that climbs the crystal walls of heaven in the autumn and 
stretches sheets of crimson flame across the hills and 
meadows with black and gigantic shadows in their midst. 
The light became broader and fiercer until it gleamed not 
only from the roofs of the village but from the sea and 
sky itself, shining on the ships that lay at anchor and 
casting a strange glow on the white faces of the Acadians. 
Flashes of fire were then seen leaping through the clouds 
of ascending smoke and the roar of the furious blaze was 
loud and terrible as the tongues of flame leaped high from 
the roof of every cottage and sparks and embers were 
whirled into the air in myriads. At first the helpless 
people on the shore and in the ships were speechless from 
dismay, but finally a cry of anguish sounded at one in- 
stant from hundreds of voices. Cocks began to crow in 
the distant farmyards, thinking the strange light to be 
the break of day and all at once there was heard a ter- 
rible sound such as startles the sleeping encampments on 
the western prairies when the wild horses in sudden fear 
sweep past with the speed of a whirlwind, or when the 
bellowing herds of buffalo rush to the river. It was 

[83] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

made by the Acadians' cattle and sheep and horses, ter- 
rified by the flames that were drawing near them. They 
broke from their folds and fences and rushed over the 
meadows with thundering hoof beats. 

Evangeline and the kind Father Felician were so 
amazed and horrified by the sight before them and by the 
awful glare of the flames destroying the entire village 
that it was some minutes before they thought to speak to 
Benedict, who had not uttered a word amid the general 
outcry of terror. As they turned they saw that he had 
fallen from his seat and lay at length upon the sand with 
his face turned toward the heavens and his eyes wide 
open and sightless. Life had departed from the un- 
happy old man when he beheld the flames rise over the 
village and heard the sorrowful outcries of his afflicted 
neighbors. He lay there motionless and silent, while 
Evangeline dropped to her knees and threw her arms 
across his body, wailing in terror as the priest lifted the 
lifeless head and closed the staring eyes. All night long 
the maiden lay in a swoon with her head upon the breast 
of her dead father, and in the morning when she came 
to herself she saw a multitude of friends who had gath- 

[84] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ered at the word of the old man's death and who gazed 
upon her with the utmost sorrow and compassion. Then 
she heard a familiar voice as the priest said to the people : 
"Let us bury him here by the sea. When happier times 
bring us back to our homes from the unknown land of our 
exile, his sacred dust shall be piously laid in the church- 
yard. In the meanwhile we must pray for his departed 
soul." 

So they buried the old farmer on the seashore with- 
out a bell to toll for him or a book from which to read 
his funeral service. But the priest repeated the sorrow- 
ful words that he knew by heart, and the glare of the 
burning village served the mourners for funeral torches. 
And suddenly, when the priest had become silent, a 
mournful sound arose like the voice of a vast congrega- 
tion breathing a prayer for the dead, and the sea seemed 
to cry an answer to the words that had just been spoken. 
It was the sound of the returning tide hastening in all its 
might back to the seashore, where the bustle and con- 
fusion of embarking recommenced at once, and the boats 
began to come and go once more between the vessels and 
the beach. When the tide went out to sea again the 

[85] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ships went with it, bearing a nation into exile and leaving 
behind them the smoking ruins of the village and the 
body of the kindly old farmer buried on the seashore. 



[86] 



THE SECOND PART 



MANY a weary year went by after the burning of 
the village of Grand-Pre, and many hardships 
fell to the lot of the Acadians. Their lands and harvests 
were given to English settlers and another race of men 
and other customs than their own were established in 
the places where Gabriel and Evangeline had played to- 
gether as children, where Basil had labored at his forge 
and where the good-hearted Farmer Benedict had plied 
his hospitality. The ships that carried the unfortunate 
people away bore them into endless exile and scattered 
them as the flakes of snow are scattered when the north- 
east wind strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 
banks of Newfoundland. For after the English ves- 
sels sailed from Minas Basin they shaped their courses 
for different seaports all along the American coast, and 
families that had sailed in different ships were separated 
forever and sometimes divided by the distance of the en- 

[87] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



tire English colonies, unable to tell where their loved 
ones had been set ashore or where to go in search of them. 
Other misfortunes equally terrible came upon them, for 
the people of the towns where they landed were openly 
hostile to them, often driving them from their gates and 
refusing to give them aid in their privations. Many of 
the Acadians became no better than beggars and wan- 
dered starving and helpless, without friend or shelter, 
from city to city throughout the land in search of better 
fortune. Some of them visited the cold, bleak lakes of 
the north and built rude cabins in the wilderness, while 
others strayed to sultry southern regions where the alli- 
gator could be heard at night, bellowing through the 
silence of the swamps and where the negro slaves were 
driven to labor in the cotton fields, beneath the lash 
of the planter's whip. In every new land that they 
visited they sought to find homes and friends, or at least 
to be allowed to earn these by their labor and patience, 
but everywhere they were cruelly denied until their 
search seemed utterly hopeless. Many of them died, 
heartbroken and despairing before their wanderings were 
ended, asking nothing better than a grave by the wayside 
and a tablet whereon should be engraved the history of 

[88] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

their sorrows and the cruelty with which they had been 
treated. 

For many years the beautiful Evangeline was to be 
seen among her people, waiting and wandering with them 
in patience and lowliness of spirit, although she under- 
went as bitter hardships as any of her countrymen. She 
was still lovely to look upon, but there was now a certain 
sadness in her manner as though she knew that the desert 
of life was stretched ahead of her in all its vast and 
dreary silence, with its pathway marked by the graves of 
those that had journeyed before her, bearing suffering and 
sorrow equal to her own. And the life of this maiden, 
who seemed to have been born for happiness, and on 
whom so much early misfortune had fallen, appeared in- 
complete and imperfect, as though a morning in June had 
suddenly faded in its glory and died away into the east 
with all its sunshine and its music just at the hour when 
it should have been in its height. 

What grieved Evangeline more than any of her suf- 
ferings was that Gabriel had been separated from her in 
the voyage and that she did not know where to search for 
him, and this was the most terrible thing that could pos- 
sibly have happened to her except the knowledge of his 

[89] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

death. With Gabriel at her side she would have learned 
to begin life again in some new region and to forbear to 
grieve for her father whose unhappy death was continu- 
ally in her mind. Without either her father or lover she 
seemed utterly forsaken and there was a restless fever in 
her heart that urged her onward continually in search of 
Gabriel. Sometimes she would linger in strange cities 
and vainly hope that he might be met with there. Some- 
times she would visit unknown churchyards and scan the 
more recent headstones, fearing lest she might see the 
name of her lover written on one of them, or she would 
sit beside some nameless grave believing that he might 
be sleeping there and wishing in her heart that she were 
at rest also. Again she would feel a sudden desire to 
travel further in her search and leave whatever place 
chance found her in, betaking herself to the weary road 
to toil in difficult journeys. Sometimes she would hear 
a rumor that Gabriel had passed that way before her 
and the faintest whisper of his whereabouts would be 
breathed into her ears, directing her forward on her way 
like the pointing of spirit hands. Occasionally she 
spoke with persons who had even seen her lover and 
known him in the past and then her heart would rejoice 

[90] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

even though no knowledge was imparted to her as to his 
whereabouts. For always when such news was brought 
it concerned the happenings of years gone by and of 
places far from where she had ever traveled. 

"Gabriel Lajeunesse," some one would say. "Oh, 
yes, we have seen him, but it was many months ago and 
we do not know what has become of him since that time. 
He was with Basil, the blacksmith, and both went to the 
prairies of the west whence word came to us some time 
past that they had become famous hunters and trappers." 

Others would say in some different part of the coun- 
try: "Gabriel Lajeunesse'? That name is strangely 
familiar to us but we have not heard its sound for many 
years. He went to the lowlands of Louisiana long ago, 
and he became a voyageur!' 

Then the Acadians who still accompanied Evange- 
line would say to her : "Dear child, do not dream and wait 
for your absent lover any longer. There are other youths 
as handsome as Gabriel and other hearts as tender and 
true as his. Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the son of the 
aged notary, who has loved you for many a tedious year 
and has no other desire in life but to wed you and make 
you happy. Why not marry him, Evangeline, give him 

[91] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



your hand and be happy*? You are far too fair to braid 
Saint Catherine's tresses and be left without a husband." 

Whenever words like this were spoken, Evangeline 
would reply, saying, "I cannot. Where my heart has 
been given my hand shall be given also. For when one 
follows the heart it lights the pathway like a lamp that 
goes before and many things are made clear that other- 
wise lie hidden in darkness forever." 

Thereupon the priest, the good Father Felician, who 
had ever been with Evangeline in her travels, and who 
loved her as tenderly as a father, would look upon her 
with a smile of gladness, for it delighted him always to 
find her so constant to her lover. And he would say: 

"My daughter, your God speaks within you. Talk 
not of wasted affection, for affection never was wasted. 
If your love enrich not the heart of another its waters, 
returning back to their springs like rain, shall fill them 
full of refreshment. That which the fountain sends 
forth returns again to the fountain." And he would 
counsel her, saying: "Have patience, Evangeline. Ac- 
complish your labor and fulfill the task that your love 
for Gabriel has set before you. Sorrow and silence are 
strong, and patient endurance is godlike. Complete 

[92] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

your work of love and your heart shall be made more fit 
for heaven." 

The words of the kind priest always drove away the 
dismal forebodings that told Evangeline that she would 
never see Gabriel again, and after he had comforted her 
in this manner a whisper telling her not to despair would 
rise in her heart. Then she would take up her journey 
once again and leave her remaining friends one after one 
as she continued in her search. Father Felician accom- 
panied her wherever she went and shared the sufferings 
of her travels. Sometimes they would be alone in the 
wilderness or again would fall in with some of their fel- 
low-countrymen and travel with them for many days. 
But wherever they went and however far they traveled, 
Gabriel seemed to draw farther and farther away from 
the scene of their wanderings. 



[93] 



II 

ONE May morning on the beautiful river that flows 
past the Ohio shore, and past the mouth of the 
stream that is called the Wabash, there could be seen a 
heavy and cumbrous boat that was rowed by Acadian 
boatmen. It glided out of the river's mouth into the 
broader and swifter stream of the Mississippi and floated 
down the golden current of that mighty river. The Aca- 
dians hoped to find their friends and relatives in the 
southern part of the region that was called Louisiana, 
and were traveling there as swiftly as their oars and the 
current of the stream would take them. They had gath- 
ered together a considerable number of their exiled coun- 
trymen and they determined not to cease their journey 
until their friends had been discovered also, when they 
would build another village and found another Acadia in 
a land where the English could not molest them. Men, 
women and children were in the boat, and Evangeline 
accompanied them with her guide, Father Felician. She 
had a strange prophetic feeling in her heart that told her 

[94] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Gabriel was living in the south with the remnant of the 
Acadians that were rumored to have settled there and 
she had joined her countrymen in their journey southward 
for this reason. 

The boat went on and on, gliding for hundreds of 
miles down the turbulent stream that flowed through the 
somber wilderness, and night after night the Acadians 
built their camp-fires on the river-bank at the edge of the 
gloomy forest. Every morning they rose before the sun 
to continue their journey southward and launched their 
boat anew upon a current that bore them continually 
through a strange and changing country. Now they 
would dart through rushing chutes where the flood be- 
came fast and furious as the river passed among green 
islands, where the cotton-trees nodded their shadowy 
crests like waving plumes and seemed to whisper to the 
exiles as they glided onward, and again they would float 
into some broad and still lagoon, where silver sandbars 
lay in the stream with wimpling waves running along 
their margins, and where the flocks of pelicans with snow- 
white plumage waded in the quiet water. Ever they 
journeyed to the south, and the landscape about them 
changed more greatly as each day went by. No hills 

[95] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

were to be seen and the country became flat and level. 
Houses of planters stood on the river-bank surrounded 
with luxuriant gardens whose wonderful and brightly 
colored flowers cast their perfume in rich clouds upon 
the tranquil surface of the water. The Acadians saw 
the negro cabins where slaves dwelt and vast fields of 
cotton and sugar-cane, and they knew that they were 
drawing near to the region of perpetual summer where 
the river sweeps to the eastward in a mighty curve and 
runs amid groves of citron and orange-trees. 

Where the Mississippi swerved the Acadians changed 
their course also and entered the Bayou of Plaquemine. 
Soon they were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 
waters that ran like a network of steel in every direction, 
and even the stoutest hearts in their whole company beat 
more quickly when they entered there. Over their heads 
the dark and towering boughs of the cypress-trees met in 
a gloomy arch while the river glided sullenly beneath, 
and trailing moss hung from the branches, waving in 
mid-air like the banners on the walls of ancient cathe- 
drals. The silence in that dismal place was death-like, 
broken only by the cry of the heron returning to its nest 
at sunset and by the voice of the owl that greeted the 

[96] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

moon with wild and terrible laughter. But the moon- 
light itself was beautiful to behold as it gleamed on the 
black water, shining on columns of cypress and cedar that 
supported the dark, leafy arches through which it fell. 
Everything was dreamy and indistinct and strange, and 
impressed its wild sadness on the spirits of the Acadians. 
Wonder came into their hearts and terror also, and 
strange forebodings of some unseen evil about to befall 
them — evil all the more to be feared from its uncertainty. 
For just as the leaves of that shrinking plant, the mimosa, 
will close themselves in advance at the tramp of a horse's 
hoof upon the prairie, the human heart will often shrink 
with sorrowful forebodings of evil long before the stroke 
of misfortune falls. 

Evangeline did not share the fears and sorrows of 
her countrymen that might have been caused by nothing 
more terrible than their dismal and forlorn surroundings, 
for the maiden's spirit was sustained by a beautiful 
vision that seemed to float before her eyes continually 
and to beckon her onward through the moonlight. She 
believed that she saw Gabriel moving before her and her 
constant thought of him had become so powerful in her 
heart and mind that her lover's form did actually appear 

[97] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

before her eyes. But Evangeline's vision did not rise 
wholly from the power of her love, for Gabriel had trav- 
eled over those same gloomy waters before her and every 
stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. 

Suddenly, as though he felt that somebody was ap- 
proaching, one of the oarsmen rose in his place in the bow 
of the boat, and placing his bugle to his lips, blew a loud 
blast that rang wildly through the dark colonnades and 
leafy corridors of those gloomy and sullen streams. He 
blew to learn if others than themselves were voyaging 
there, and his challenge was so powerful that the trailing 
banners of moss stirred to the music while a multitude of 
echoes awoke to his summons and sounded over the 
watery floor to die away in the distance beneath the rever- 
berant branches of the forest. Not a voice replied, and 
from the surrounding darkness no answer came, and when 
the echoes died away the returning silence was like a 
sense of pain upon the spirits of the Acadians. Evange- 
line slept in utter weariness and disappointment, but the 
boatmen continued to row through the midnight, silent 
at times and then singing the familiar Canadian boat 
songs that in happier days were echoed from the shores 
of their own Acadian rivers. In the pauses between 

[98] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

their songs there could be heard the mysterious sounds 
of the wilderness, far off and indistinct, blending to- 
gether into strange and uncanny whispers, while now and 
then the whoop of the crane or the roar of the grim al- 
ligator came echoing to them beneath the arches of the 
trees. 

Before another noon had passed, however, they 
emerged from those dismal shades and floated out upon 
the broad and golden waters of the lakes of the Atchafa- 
laya that were as still as slumber itself and as smooth as 
pools of glass, flashing beneath the morning sun and 
covered with myriads of water-lilies that rocked to the 
slight undulations made by the passing oars. Above the 
heads of the boatmen the lotus flower lifted its golden 
crown in all its radiant beauty and the air was faint 
with the perfumed breath of magnolia blossoms and the 
heat of noon. The Acadians glided near to the shores 
of numberless leafy islands, scented with blossoming 
hedges of roses and seeming to invite them to rest their 
weary oars and slumber in the fragrant and delightful 
beds of flowers and leaves and shrubbery prepared for 
them by nature on the banks. Soon they yielded to the 
restful summons of the land and suspended their oars 

[99] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

beside the fairest of those islands, drawing their boat to 
the shore beneath the boughs of high Wachita willow- 
trees that grew upon the margin of the water. There a 
magical sleep came over the tired travelers, who were- 
wearied to the point of exhaustion by their midnight toil, 
and they slumbered beneath a huge, cool cedar-tree that 
lifted its mighty boughs above them in protection, while 
they slept. Swinging from the vast arms of this tree hung 
the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine, trailing down 
their ladder of fairy-like and leafy ropes that seemed like 
the ladder of Jacob on whose pendulous stairs the angels 
ascended and descended. In this case, however, the 
angels were the swift, bright-colored humming-birds that 
floated from blossom to blossom on the vines, but Evan- 
geline beheld the more heavenly vision as she slept be- 
neath the tree. Her heart was filled with love as she 
slumbered there and the dawn of an opening paradise 
lighted her dreaming soul with the glory of heavenly 
things. 

It seemed indeed that destiny determined that 
Evangeline should lose her lover, Gabriel, forever and 
continue to weary herself in search of him throughout her 
lifetime, and that the slumber of the Acadians beneath 

[lOO] 




'close at her father's side was the gentle EVANGELINE SEATED^ 

—Page 154 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the cedar-tree was the result of some binding spell cast 
upon them for this purpose and no other. While they 
slept and dreamed in the fragrance and heat of the sum- 
mer noon, a boat was drawing nearer and ever nearer to 
them among the numberless islands — a light, swift boat 
that sped upon the water urged on its course by the 
sinewy arms of hunters and trappers. Its prow was 
turned to the north to the land of the bison and beaver, 
and at the helm sat a youth with dark and neglected 
locks overshadowing his brow and a careworn face on 
which was plainly written a sadness beyond his years. 
It was Gabriel who could bear no longer to wait idly for 
Evangeline, and who had become so unhappy and rest- 
less in his constant thought of her that he sought to for- 
get himself and his sorrow in the wilderness of the west 
whither he and his companions were traveling. They 
glided swiftly along their course until they were not a 
stone's throw from the boat that had been drawn beneath 
the willows, and Gabriel, if he had only known, could 
have taken fifty steps across the island and lifted the 
sleeping Evangeline in his arms. But his boat passed 
by on the opposite side of the island, behind a leafy 
screen that concealed the other boat drawn up be- 

[lOl] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

neath the willows and neither he nor his companions 
saw it. 

The Acadians slept on, undisturbed by the dash of 
their countrymen's oars and the voices of the hunters as 
they passed, for no angel was at hand to awaken the 
sleeping maiden as her lover glided by. He passed with 
his companions as swiftly as the shadow of a cloud upon 
the prairie and not until the sound of the oars in the 
thole pins had died in the far distance did the sleepers 
awaken from the slumber that had come over them with 
such unhappy consequences. 

When she woke, Evangeline said with a sigh to her 
counselor, the kind-hearted priest, "O Father Felician! 
Something in my heart tells me that Gabriel is wandering 
near me. Is it a foolish dream, or has some angel passed, 
revealing the truth to my spirit'?" Then she added with 
a blush, "Alas, my fancy is too credulous and I believe 
too readily what I desire to be true. Such words must 
sound idle to your ears and to be without a meaning." 

But the reverend priest answered, smiling with glad- 
ness as he did so: "My daughter, your words are not 
idle, nor are they meaningless to me. Feeling is silent 
and deep and the word that floats on the surface is like 

[102] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the tossing buoy on the face of the waters that tells where 
the anchor is hidden. Trust to your heart and to what 
the world calls illusions, for Gabriel is truly near you. 
Know that not far away to the southward are the towns 
of St. Maur and St. Martin, where the long wandering 
bride shall be given to her bridegroom and where you 
will find your happiness after so many years of seeking. 
I too shall be happy there and regain my flock and my 
sheepfold, and the people that I love will welcome their 
long absent pastor. The land is beautiful beyond words 
with prairies and forests of fruit-trees, with gardens of 
the rarest flowers underfoot and the dome of the bluest 
of heavens overhead. The people who dwell in that 
land have named it the Eden of Louisiana." 

With these words of cheer they all bestirred them- 
selves and launched their boat once more upon the tran- 
quil surface of the lake. Evening came upon them 
swiftly for they had slumbered long and the sun soon 
touched the western horizon, stretching forth his golden 
wand over the landscape like a magician. Twinkling 
vapors arose and the sky and water and forest seemed all 
on fire melting and mingling together in a glory of liquid 
flame. The boat that floated with dripping oars on the 

[103] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

motionless water seemed to hang between two skies like 
a cloud with edges of silver, and Evangeline's heart was 
touched by the magic spell of her surroundings and the 
amazing beauty of the scene until her spirit seemed to 
glow with the same light of love that transfigured the 
water and the forest and the sky. 

Then a mocking-bird began to sing as he swung upon 
a willow spray that overhung the water, and shook from 
his little throat such floods of delirious music, such a 
thrilling and wild melody that all the air and everything 
that lived in it and even the woods and the waves became 
silent in order to listen. The Acadians rested on their 
oars to hear the song, and then with hearts that throbbed 
^th emotion they entered the river Teche that flows 
through the green Opelousas, and they saw through the 
amber air of evening a column of smoke rise above the 
crest of the woodland from a neighboring dwelling, 
while the sweet sound of a horn and the distant lowing of 
cattle was borne upon their ears. 



[104] 



Ill 

THE house that the Acadians had come upon stood 
near the margin of the river and was overshad- 
owed by mighty oak-trees from which there floated gar- 
lands of Spanish moss and mystic mistletoe such as the 
Druids used to cut with their golden hatchets at Yule- 
tide. It stood secluded and still with a garden of rich 
and luxuriant flowers surrounding it, filling the air with 
heavy and delicious perfumes. The dwelling itself was 
built of timbers that had been hewn out of the cypress- 
tree and carefully fitted together, with a roof that was 
large and low, and a broad, roomy veranda supported on 
slender columns, jutting out toward the river. Its posts 
and trellis work were wreathed with vines and blossom- 
ing roses that attracted the humming-bird and the bee, 
and at each end of the house dove-cotes had been set up 
amid the flowers of the garden and endless scenes of 
rivalry and love-making were conducted there. Every- 
thing was silent and the only sign of life was the blue 
spiral of smoke curling high above the chimney-top that 

[105] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

had attracted the attention of the Acadian exiles. Then 
they saw a pathway that ran from the garden through 
vast groves of oak to the very edge of the limitless prairie 
into whose sea of flowers the great, golden sun was slowly 
sinking, while a cluster of trees with a tangled cordage 
of grape-vines running over them stood squarely in the 
path of the sun's light like ships with shadowy canvas. 
Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of 
that wide prairie sat a herdsman dressed in deerskin gar- 
ments, and mounted on a horse with Spanish trappings. 
The herdsman's face was rugged and brown beneath the 
wide brim of his sombrero, and he gazed upon the peace- 
ful scene before him with the commanding look of a mas- 
ter. Surrounding him were numberless herds of cattle 
that grazed at will in the wide, sweet-scented meadows 
and breathed the moist freshness that floated up from the 
river to spread itself over all the land. Then the herds- 
man slowly lifted the horn that hung from his girdle and 
expanding his broad, deep chest, blew a piercing blast 
that echoed wild and sweet and far through the damp and 
quiet evening. At the sound the long, white horns of 
the cattle rose from the waving grass and the herds rushed 
bellowing over the prairie, and suddenly, as the herds- 

[io6] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

man turned toward his house, he saw the figures of the 
maiden and the priest come through the gate of the gar- 
den and hasten toward him. When he beheld their faces 
he sprang from his horse in amazement and ran forward 
to greet them with extended arms and ejaculations of 
wonder, and when they looked on his face they were 
equally amazed, for he was no other than Basil, the black- 
smith, strong and rugged as in former days when he had 
labored at his forge, but with white hair and the grave 
and assured demeanor of the wealthy land-owner. His 
welcome was bluff and hearty as he led his guests to an 
arbor of roses in the garden where they plied him with 
endless questions and answers, laughing and weeping 
in turn and embracing each other frequently as they 
talked. But after a few minutes they became silent and 
thoughtful, for Gabriel did not come to greet them and 
dark misgivings and doubts stole over the maiden's heart 
as she heard no word of him from Basil. At last the 
blacksmith said with some embarrassment of manner, 
for he knew what a bitter disappointment lay in his 
words: "Tell me, dear friends, if you came by the At- 
chafalaya did not you meet with my Gabriel's boat on 
the lakes or bayous? It seems impossible that you 

[107] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

could have passed each other unawares, for he departed 
only this morning and cannot have failed to cross your 
path in his journey." 

A shadow came over Evangeline's face at his words 
and the bright tears stood in her eyes. 

"Gone? Is Gabriel gone?' she said with a trem- 
bling voice, and all at once her overburdened heart gave 
way and she wept bitterly, resting her head on Basil's 
shoulder. 

Then the kind-hearted blacksmith said with a voice 
that grew merry with his own words of encouragement: 

"Come, my dear child, be of good cheer, for to-mor- 
row before sunrise we will follow and overtake him. 
The foolish boy left me all alone with my herds and 
horses, declaring that he could no longer bear this quiet 
existence. He was always thinking of you, Evangeline, 
and speaking of nothing but his troubles and his grief 
concerning you, until he became so wearisome to all the 
men and maidens hereabouts, so tedious even to me, his 
father, that I thought it best to send him to the town 
of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. From 
there he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Moun- 
tains and hunt for furs in the forest and trap beaver on 

[io8] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the rivers. But keep a stout heart for he is not yet far 
away and the fates and the streams themselves are work- 
ing against him. To-morrow we will pursue the fugi- 
tive lover and bring him back to his prison." 

As he spoke there was heard the sound of joyful 
voices, and up from the river-bank came the boisterous 
Acadians, carrying Michael, the old fiddler, in their arms. 
The merry old man had lived for many months beneath 
the roof of Basil like a god on Mount Olympus, having no 
other care in the whole world than dispensing music to 
mortals and gladdening the hearts of all his neighbors. 
Michael had become famous far and wide for his silver 
locks and his maryelous fiddle that could set people to 
dancing against their will and the Acadians shouted in 
joy as they bore him upon their shoulders, crying: 
"Long live Michael, our brave Acadian minstrel !" lifting 
him even higher as they shouted. Evangeline and 
Father Felician started forward to greet him while Basil 
hailed his former comrades and friends with hilarious 
joy, shouting with laughter as he embraced the mothers 
and daughters all around and clapping the men so 
stoutly on the shoulders that they staggered and almost 
fell beneath his blows. The Acadians wondered greatly 

[109] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

at the wealth of the former blacksmith, the extent of his 
lands, his many herds and the patriarchal demeanor that 
had come over him. But they wondered still more at 
his tales of the rich, stoneless soil and the tropical cli- 
mate there, and the vast prairies where numberless herds 
ran wild over the land and belonged to whoever would 
take the trouble to go and capture them. As the exiles 
listened to him, observing how he had prospered, there 
was a feeling almost of gladness in their hearts because 
they had been driven from their native county into such 
a land of plenty, and each one privately resolved that 
he would go and do as Basil had done and become 
equally wealthy with him. Talking and laughing to- 
gether they ascended the steps of his house and crossed 
the wide veranda, entering the hallway where his sup- 
per was prepared against his late return and where they 
rested and feasted together in the utmost happiness. 

The hour was late and darkness soon descended over 
the feast while everything out-of-doors became utterly 
silent and the moon and the brilliant stars illumined the 
landscape with silver, but brighter than these gleamed 
the faces of the friends gathered about the blacksmith's 
board as the glimmering lamps were lighted and brought 

[no] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

into the hall. Then from his place at the head of the 
table, honest Basil poured forth his heart and his wine in 
equal profusion and when the feast was ended he lit 
his pipe and smoked the sweet tobacco of the south, blow- 
ing the fragrant smoke about him in great clouds as he had 
done at Benedict's fireside in former years. And his guests 
still tasted his wine and smiled with gladness as they 
looked on him until he rose and addressed them. 

"Welcome, friends," he shouted, ''you who have been 
so long both friendless and homeless — welcome to a home 
that is perhaps even better than the old one. For here 
no hungry winter chills our blood nor does a flinty 
ground provoke the farmer's wrath. The plowshare 
runs through the soil as smoothly as a keel through the 
water and the orange-trees are in blossom winter and 
summer alike. Here, too, the grass grows taller in a 
single night than in a whole Canadian summer and num- 
berless herds of cattle run wild and unclaimed on the 
prairie for you to take as you desire them. Land is to 
be had for the asking and whole forests of timber are 
waiting for you to hew them into barns and houses. 
When your dwellings are once built and your fields are 
yellow with ripening harvests no King George of Eng- 

[III] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

land shall drive you away from your homes, burning 
your houses and barns and stealing your crops and cat- 
tle." 

The brawny smith became more and more angry as 
he called to the minds of his guests the wrongs that the 
English had worked upon them, and with his final 
words he brought his huge fist down on the table with 
such a crash that the dishes jumped from the boards and 
the guests were greatly startled. Father Felician paused 
in amazement with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nos- 
trils, and Basil, half ashamed as he met the calm glance 
of the priest, assumed a gentler manner and continued 
speaking with a milder and gayer note in his voice: 
"But mark you, my friends, beware of the fever in this 
country, for it is strong and dangerous, not like that of 
our colder Acadian climate, to be cured by wearing a 
spider around one's neck in a nutshell I" 

The Acadians burst into laughter at this warning 
and the memories it awakened among them, and in the 
midst of their merriment there came the sound of voices 
from the doorway and the tramp of feet on the outer 
stairs and broad veranda. The neighboring Creoles and 
small Acadian planters had come at Basil's summons to 

[112] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

greet the newcomers, and their glad voices rang to the 
ceiling as they beheld the assembled company. Friend 
clasped friend in his arms and those that had formerly 
been as strangers to one another became friends on that 
instant, for the joy of meeting their countrymen in exile 
proved to have binding power upon them. While they 
rejoiced together the sound of music came from the neigh- 
boring hall where Michael had picked up his fiddle and 
bestirred himself in his business, playing with such a lilt 
and rhythm that the feet of the entire company seemed 
to move of their own accord and further speech became 
impossible. Away they whirled to the dizzy dance like 
happy children, forgetting everything except the strains 
of the maddening music that drove them on as in a dream 
to ceaseless motion, and they danced and whirled with 
beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering garments. 

In the meantime the priest and Basil sat apart 
from the joyous company, conversing of former 
times and the prospects of their future life in the 
new land, while Evangeline stood regarding them 
as in a trance with memories both sweet and sad 
arising in her heart as she saw them together. 
She believed that in the midst of Michael's music she 

[113] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

could hear the sounding of the sea as it swept the shores 
of Minas Basin and she thought of her father's lonely 
grave at the edge of the ocean. Sadness came upon her 
until she was forced to leave the company unnoticed and 
steal into the garden to be alone. The night was 
strangely beautiful and the moon gleaming above the 
black wall of the forest tipped its edges with liquid sil- 
ver and cast a pearly light upon the trees. Here and 
there it flashed from the quiet river like the tender 
thoughts of love that fall at times upon the darkest and 
most saddened spirits, and the flowers of the gardens 
seemed to pour forth odors that were at once their pray- 
ers and their confessions. But the heart and spirit of 
Evangeline were filled with a fragrance even greater 
than that of the flowers, and the calm, magical moonlight 
seemed to flood her soul with nameless longings. She 
passed along the garden path to the shade of the large 
oak-trees on the edge of the prairie and she gazed on the 
vast expanse of meadow veiled in a haze of silver and 
gemmed with fireflies that gleamed through the mist as 
they floated away in infinite numbers. The bright stars 
were shining over the head of the maiden and her soul 
wandered forth alone between the stars and the prairie. 

[114] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Reaching out her arms as though she would embrace her 
lover, she cried aloud: "Oh, Gabriel, my dear one, how 
often have your feet trodden this very path and your 
eyes beheld the woodlands that surround me now. Be- 
neath the tree where I stand you must have lain down 
many a time to rest after your labor and to dream of me 
as you slumbered. When may my eyes behold you and 
my arms be folded about you? Why does not your 
voice reach me now and why may not I see you when you 
are so near to me?" 

Sudden and loud the note of a whippoorwill 
sounded like a flute among the trees and floated into si- 
lence. A gentle wind stirred the branches of the forest 
and the oak-trees whispered "Patience" from caverns 
of darkness in the woodland, while the moonlit meadow 
seemed to sigh in answer. Evangeline returned to the 
house of Basil with the new hope burning within her 
that on the next day her party might overtake the boat 
of Gabriel among the bayous. 

Just as the sun rose Basil and Evangeline descended 
to the river's brink where the boatmen were already wait- 
ing for them. 

"Farewell," cried Father Felician from the doorway, 

[115] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

''See that you bring back the Prodigal Son safe and 
sound as well as the Foolish Virgin who slept when the 
bridegroom was coming." 

'Tarewell," said Evangeline with a smile at the 
priest's words, and the boat darted up the river in the 
sunlight, following swiftly the flight of him who was 
speeding before them like a dead leaf blown by the blast 
of fate over the wide desert. They found no trace of 
Gabriel that day or the day following and they searched 
for weary months through a wild and desolate country 
without success. At last they came to the little Spanish 
town of Adayes, spent and travel-worn, only to learn 
with bitter grief that Gabriel had left the village the day 
before they reached it and, with horses and companions, 
had taken to the trackless prairie where there was but 
scanty hope of finding him. 



[ii6] 



IV 

FAR in the west there lay what was then a wilderness 
where the mountains lift their lofty summits 
through eternal snows and where the mighty rivers of the 
Oregon and the Walleway and the Owyhee flow through 
deep and jagged valleys still further to the westward, 
^rom the eastern slope of these mountains the Nebraska 
dashes through the Sweet-water valley with a swift and 
devious course, and numberless torrents roll to south, de- 
scending to the ocean with eternal sound like the chords 
of a mighty harp in loud and solemn vibrations. Beauti- 
ful prairies lie between these streams, bright with the wild 
rose and the purple amorphas, and over them wandered 
herds of buffalo and packs of wolves and droves of rider- 
less horses. There too were encountered the winds that 
have become weary with their travels and the blighting 
prairie fires that rolled on their furious courses, and there 
the scattered tribes of the children of Ishmael, the cruel 
and savage Indians, once stained the desert with blood 
while the vulture wheeled on majestic pinions above 

[117] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

their terrible war-trails like the soul of some implacable 
chieftain slaughtered in battle. Here and there arose 
columns of smoke from the camps of savage marauders, 
and here and there in silent groves on the margin of 
rushing streams the grim, taciturn bear descended from 
the mountains to dig for roots by the edge of the water. 

Such was the land at the base of the Ozark Moun- 
tains where Gabriel and his companions entered, and 
day after day Evangeline and Basil followed in his fly- 
ing footsteps. Sometimes they saw or thought they saw 
the smoke of his camp-fire on the distant plain, but when 
they reached the spot only ashes and embers were to be 
found. And yet, although they were sad at heart and 
their bodies were weary with their travels, Hope still 
guided them onward like the magic Fata Morgana with 
her lakes of light or like the Will-o'-the-Wisp that re- 
treated vanishing before them. 

One evening they were sitting by their fire when an 
Indian woman entered their little camp, and on her face 
were traces of great sorrow and of equally great patience. 
She was a Shawnee woman, returning to her own tribe 
from the distant hunting-grounds of the cruel Comanches 
who had murdered her Canadian husband. The hearts of 

[ii8] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

the Acadians were touched as she told her story and they 
gave her a friendly welcome and endeavored to quiet her 
grief with words of sympathy and kindness. But not 
until the evening meal of buffalo meat was ended and 
Basil and his companions had wrapped themselves in 
their blankets to sleep in the flickering firelight, did she 
tell to Evangeline the complete story of her love with 
all its pains and reverses. Seated at the door of the 
maiden's tent she spoke in a sweet, low voice with all the 
charm of an Indian accent, and the maiden wept to hear 
her and to know that another beside herself had loved 
deeply and been disappointed. But although Evan- 
geline's soul was moved to the utmost depths of pity and 
womanly compassion she could not refrain from rejoic- 
ing that another sufferer was near her who would com- 
pletely understand the story of her love, and when the 
Indian woman ceased speaking, the maiden in her turn 
spoke of Gabriel and of her own sorrows and disasters. 
It seemed that the Indian read in Evangeline's story 
something that the maiden herself could not behold in 
it, something of strange significance prophesying further 
disaster, for she sat mute with wonder as she listened and 
when the tale was ended remained silent as though some 

[119] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

mysterious horror passed through her brain and pre- 
sented her from speaking. At last, however, she found 
words to tell Evangeline the story of Mowis, the bride- 
groom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden only to 
melt away in the sunshine so that his bride never beheld 
him again although she searched far and wide in the 
forest. The Indian woman told this story in a sweet, 
low voice that sounded like an incantation, and when 
her tale was ended she told one equally strange of the 
beautiful maiden named Lilinau who was wooed by a 
phantom that came in the twilight to her father's lodge 
amid the pine-trees and whispered to her with a voice 
like that of the evening wind until she followed his 
green and waving plume through the forest and was 
never seen again. As Evangeline listened to the low 
Toice it seemed to her that all the country surrounding 
her was bewitched and that the Indian woman was no 
other than the enchantress who could cast a spell over 
mountain and meadow and woodland by the sound of 
her strange voice. A secret, subtle sense of horror crept 
into the maiden's heart as a cold and poisonous snake 
creeps into the nest of a swallow. It was no earthly 
fear, but a breath from the land of spirits that floated 

[120] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

in the night air until Evangeline believed that like the 
maiden of the legend, she herself was pursuing a phan- 
tom and would never again return to her own people. 
With this thought she went to sleep to dream of Gabriel 
and the fear and ghostly images vanished in her dream. 

Early the next morning the journey was continued 
and the Shawnee woman said as they traveled in com- 
pany, "On the western slope of these mountains the Black 
Robe chief of the Mission dwells in his little village and 
teaches the Indians many things, telling them of Mary 
and Jesus until their hearts leap with joy and pain as 
they hear him." 

"Let us go there," said Evangeline, with a sudden 
hope glowing within her, "let us hasten to the mission 
for I truly believe that good tidings are awaiting us 
there." 

They turned their horses in the direction that the 
Indian woman pointed out to them, and just at sunset 
they heard the murmur of voices behind the spur of a 
mountain. A green and broad meadow lay at its base 
and on the bank of a river they beheld the tents of the 
Jesuit mission and saw the Black Robe chief kneeling 
with his children in prayer beneath a gigantic oak-tree 

[121] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

that stood in the midst of the village. High on the 
trunk of the tree was fastened a crucifix and the agonized 
face of the Saviour gazed on the kneeling multitude. 
For the tree was the Mission's chapel and the sound of 
hymns and the chant of vespers arose through the arches 
of its leafy roof to echo from the mountains. 

The travelers approached with uncovered heads and 
knelt with the others on the grass to join in the evening 
prayer. When it was finished, and the benediction had 
fallen from the lips of the priest like seed from the hands 
of the sower, the reverend father advanced to meet the 
strangers and to bid them welcome. When they an- 
swered him he smiled with gladness to hear the sound of 
his native tongue so far in the wilderness and he led 
them with kind words and greetings into his wigwam 
where he seated them on mats and skins and brought 
them corn and his own water gourd wherewith to break 
their hunger and slake their thirst. Their story was soon 
told and the priest answered them, saying solemnly: "It 
was not six days ago that Gabriel, seated on the very 
mat where the maiden now reposes told me this same 
sad tale with his own lips. Then he arose and continued 
his journey onward." 

[122] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

The voice of the Jesuit father was soft and gentle 
and he spoke with compassionate kindness ; but his words 
were bitter in the ears of Evangeline, falling on her heart 
as the snowflakes fall on the nest that the birds have de- 
serted in the autumn to make their journey southward. 

*'He has gone far to the north," the priest continued, 
"but he intends to return to the Mission in the autumn 
when his hunting trip is ended." 

"Then let me remain with you until he comes," said 
Evangeline in a voice of quiet patience. "Let me stay 
where I am and cease my journey, for my soul is sad and 
afflicted." 

This seemed wise and well to all of them, and Evan- 
geline remained with the Black Robe father, while Basil, 
arising early the next morning with his Indian guides 
and his companions, departed to the south whence he 
had come. 

Slowly the days succeeded one another and grew 
into weeks and months. The fields of maize that were 
springing in green shoots from the ground when Evan- 
geline came to the Mission as a stranger, lifted their slen- 
der shafts above her head and bowed with ripening grain. 
Then the corn was husked in the golden and mellow au- 

[123] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

tumn and the maidens blushed at each blood-red ear 
that told them some lover was on his way to woo them, 
while at every crooked ear they laughed and called it 
a thief in the cornfield. 

But even the red ears of corn brought no lover to 
Evangeline, who drooped with sadness day after day, 
although the priest exhorted her to be patient. 

"Only have sufficient faith," said he, "and your 
prayer will be answered. Look upon this delicate and 
fragile plant that lifts its stem from the grass. See how 
its leaves all point to the north as true as a magnet. It 
is the compass flower that God has placed here to direct 
the footsteps of the traveler over the pathless waste of 
the infinite desert. Brighter flowers may blossom before 
him, but this alone can guide him. Faith is the compass 
flower of man's soul, and only through the light of faith 
may the pathway of the spirit be illumined." 

In mockery, as it seemed, of the priest's words the 
autumn passed and winter also — yet Gabriel did not 
come. Spring returned to the land and the robin and 
bluebird sang once more in the thicket, yet he still re- 
mained far away. But when the burning summer was 
on the land a rumor came to the ears of Evangeline that 

[124] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

Gabriel had made his camp on the bank of the Saginaw 
river far to the north, and taking guides and bidding 
the priest a sad farewell she left the Mission and sought 
the lakes of the St. Lawrence. When she reached the 
Saginaw she found the cabin of her lover, but Gabriel 
had left it long before and it had fallen into ruins. 

Years of sadness went their way and still Evange- 
line continued in her fruitless search, and she was seen in 
the most distant and inaccessible places. Now she 
would appear in the tents of the Moravian missions and 
again she could be found in the turbulent camps and 
battlefields of striving armies. Sometimes she lived in 
secluded hamlets and sometimes in towns or thriving 
cities, coming like a phantom and passing on to be for- 
gotten. She was young and beautiful when she began 
her search and her face was bright with hope and fear- 
lessness, but every year stole something away from her 
beauty, and gloom and shadow were marked more deeply 
on her countenance. Then faint streaks of gray began 
to show above her forehead like the dawn of another life, 
shining in her hair as first wan signs of morning shine in 
the eastern sky. 



[125] 



V 

IN the delightful land that is washed by the waters of 
the River Delaware and that guards the name of the 
apostle, William Penn, there stands on the bank of the 
river the city of Philadelphia that Penn himself once 
founded. There the air is soft and filled with balm and 
the streets reecho in their names those of the trees of 
the forest as though they sought to appease the Dryads 
of the woods whose haunts they had invaded. This was 
the place where Evangeline was set ashore when she was 
taken an exile from her native country, and here the aged 
notary, Rene Leblanc, had breathed his last with only 
one of all his hundred descendants at his side. Some- 
thing about that peaceful city with its friendly streets 
and air of pervading quiet spoke to the banished maiden 
and made her feel that she was not a stranger there. 
Her ear was pleased with the homely speech of the 
Quakers, with its "Thee" and "Thou," for it brought 
to her mind her bygone home in Acadia, just as their 
simple and kindly manners made her think of her former 
village neighbors in Grand-Pre. 

[126] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

So, when her fruitless search for Gabriel was ended 
after many weary years, Evangeline went to the city of 
William Penn to make her home. As the maiden had 
grown older her sadness had departed, and al- 
though she was still separated from her lover his 
image remained in all the splendor of its youth 
within her heart and his long absence that seemed like 
that of death itself made that image only the more beau- 
tiful. Time did not enter into her thoughts of him and 
the passing years seemed to have no power to weaken her 
memory and her love, for Gabriel had become to her as 
one who was dead, not absent, and her sorrow taught 
her the double lesson of patience and devotion to others 
than herself. She forgot her grief in doing kindness and 
good deeds to the unfortunate and she lived for many 
years as a Sister of Mercy frequenting the wretched 
dwellings of the city where sorrow and distress and want 
concealed themselves from the sunlight and where 
hunger and disease languished among the poor in neg- 
lected garrets. Night after night when the city was 
asleep and the watchman shouted through the deserted 
streets his cry that all was well, he could see the light of 
Evangeline's taper high in some lonely window where 

[127] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

she ministered to the sick and made her watch by the bed- 
side of some forlorn and afflicted person, and morning 
after morning when dawn was gray upon the roofs and 
the German farmers were plodding into town to sell their 
flowers and fruits at the market-place he would meet 
with her pale, meek face as she returned from her mid- 
night vigil. 

Then it came to pass that a terrible pestilence be- 
fell the city, foretold by many strange and wonderful 
signs, chiefly by flocks of wild pigeons that darkened the 
sky in their flight and held nothing in their craws but a 
single acorn. Death walked abroad in the streets and 
rich and poor perished together, for wealth had no power 
to bribe nor beauty to charm the dread disease that slew 
men, women and children at random and in terrible 
numbers. But while the rich could die in their own 
homes, the poor were compelled to creep into the alms- 
house that stood in the city suburbs in the midst of mead- 
ows and woodlands. And there, night after night, 
came Evangeline, the Sister of Mercy, and the dying 
looked up into her face, thinking to behold upon it such 
gleams of heavenly light as artists love to paint above 
the brows of saints and apostles, for it seemed to the per- 

[128] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

ishing poor folk that Evangeline also was a saint with 
eyes like the lamps of the celestial city that their spirits 
hoped soon to enter. 

One Sunday morning Evangeline walked through 
the deserted and silent streets and entered the door of 
the almshouse, pausing on her way to gather bunches of 
flowers from the garden so that the dying might rejoice 
for the last time in their fragrance and beauty. She was 
mounting the stairs with the flowers in her hands when 
the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church came to her 
ear and she heard the sound of the psalms that the con- 
gregation was singing. A great calm seemed to fall 
upon her spirit and something within her said, "At length 
thy trials are ended." The voice filled her heart with 
a sweet gladness and there was a fairer light than usual 
upon her face as she entered the chambers of sickness 
and moved noiselessly among the zealous and careful 
attendants, doing a thousand kindly offices and silently 
closing the eyes of the dead and covering their faces. 
Many a languid head was lifted as Evangeline entered 
there and many a dying face turned on its pillow to gaze 
after her as she passed, for her presence seemed to fall 
upon the senses of the sufferers as a ray of sunlight falls 

[129] 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 



along the wall of a gloomy prison and approaching death 
became less terrible when she was near. 

All at once, as though arrested by a sudden fear or 
wonder, she stood still with colorless lips apart while 
a shudder ran through her frame and the flowers dropped 
from her fingers. Then she uttered a cry of such terrible 
anguish that the dying heard it and started up from their 
pillows. On a pallet before her lay an old man with 
hair as white as snow and he was dying of the fever. As 
he lay there in the light of the early morning his face had 
taken on the form of his earlier manhood and for an in- 
stant had become young again as the faces of the dying 
will often do in the last moment of life. His exhausted 
spirit was sinking lower and lower into the shades of 
death when he heard Evangeline's cry and through the 
hush that followed, the tender whisper, "Oh, Gabriel, 
my beloved I" came to his fading senses as she lifted him 
in her arms and pressed her kisses on his lips. Then he 
beheld as in a dream the sunlit fields and mountains of 
his former home in Acadia and believed that he was 
walking there with Evangeline at his side. Tears welled 
up beneath his eyelids for he knew that it was only a 
dream, but as he opened his eyes he saw Evangeline 

[130] 





o^-.** 



M J- 



AND ANON WITH HIS WOODEN SHOES BEAT TIME TO THE MUSIC ' 

— Page ij2 



THE STORY OF EVANGELINE 

kneeling by his bedside. Vainly he tried to whisper her 
name but could not, although his moving lips told her 
what he sought to say, and the light in his eyes was beau- 
tiful to behold until, like a lamp that is blown out by a 
gust of wind at the casement, it suddenly sank into the 
darkness of death. 

All was ended — the hope and fear and sorrow and 
heartache that had tortured the maiden for so many years 
were over at last and forever, and Evangeline as she 
pressed the lifeless head to her bosom, bowed her own 
in submission and murmured, "Father, I thank Thee." 



On the shores of the Acadian coast there linger to 
this day a few Acadian peasants whose forefathers re- 
turned from exile to their native land, and the maidens 
there still wear their Norman caps and kirtles and repeat 
by the evening fire Evangeline's sad story. But 
Evangeline herself lies at rest with Gabriel under the 
humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard in the 
heart of a great city, and no record or headstone remains 
to tell their sorrowful history. 



[131] 



EVANGELINE 



EVANGELINE 

A TALE OF ACADIE 

1847 

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring 
pines and the hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in 

the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,, 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their 

bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring 

ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of 

the forest. 

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts 

that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the 

voice of the huntsman *? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian 

farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the 

woodlands, 

[135] 



EVANGELINE 



Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image 

of heaven? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever 

departed I 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts 

of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far 

o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of 

Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in aifection that hopes, and endures, 

and is patient, 
"Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's 

devotion, 
list to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of 

the forest; 
list to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 



[136] 



PART THE FIRST 
I 

IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Mi- 
nas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to 
the eastward. 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with-^ 
out number. 

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with la- 
bor incessant. 

Shut out the turbulent tide; but at stated seasons the 

flood-gates 

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er 
the meadows. 

West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards 

and cornfields. 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to 

the northward. 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 

mountains 



EVANGELINE 



Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 

Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station 

descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian 

village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and 

of chestnut, 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of 

the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and 

gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded the door- 
way. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly 

the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the 

chimneys. 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in 

kittles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaifs spinning the 

golden 



[138] 



EVANGELINE 



Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within 

doors 
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the 

songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the 

children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless 

them. 
Heverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons 

and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate 

welcome. 
Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely 

the sun sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the 

belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the 

village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense as- 
cending, 
Hose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and 

contentment. 



[139] 



EVANGELINE 



Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farm- 
ers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they 
free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of 
republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their 
windows; 

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of 
the owners; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 
abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin 

of Minas, 
Benedict Belief ontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand- 

Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing his 

household, 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the 

village. 
Stalwart and stately in form was the man of seventy 

winters; 

[140] 



EVANGELINE 



Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with 
snowflakes ; 

White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 
brown as the oak-leaves. 

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen sum- 
mers. 

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn 
by the wayside. 

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown 
shade of her tresses ! 

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed in 
the meadows. 

When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noon- 
tide 

Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was the 
maiden ! 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell 
from its turret 

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with his 
hyssop 

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings upon 
them, 



[141] 



EVANGELINE 



Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of 
beads and her missal, 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, and the 
earrings. 

Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an 
heirloom. 

Handed down from mother to child, through long gen- 
erations. 

But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal beauty — 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after 
confession. 

Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction 
upon her. 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of ex- 
quisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the 

farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a 

shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing 

around it. 



[142] 



EVANGELINE 



Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a 
footpath 

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the 
meadow. 

Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a pent- 
house, 

Such as the traveler sees in regions remote by the road- 
side. 

Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of 
Mary. 

Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with 
its moss-grown 

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the 
horses. 

Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the 
barns and the farmyard. 

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique 
plows and the harrows; 

There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his 
feathered seraglio. 

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with 
the selfsame 

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 

[143] 



EVANGELINE 



Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. 
In each one 

Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a stair- 
case, 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn- 
loft. 

There too the dove-cote stood, with its meek and innocent 
inmates 

Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant 
breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mu- 
tation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of 

Grand-Pre 
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his 

household. 
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his 

missal. 
Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest 

devotion; 
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of 

her garment! 

[144] 



EVANGELINE 



Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness be- 
friended, 

And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her 
footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker 
of iron; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village. 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he 
whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music. 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was wel- 
come ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, 

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of 
all men; 

For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and na- 
tions. 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the 
people. 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earli- 
est childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Feli- 
cian, 

[145] 



EVANGELINE 



Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught 
them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church 
and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson com- 
pleted. 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the black- 
smith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to 
behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a play- 
thing, 

Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of 
the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering 
darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every 
cranny and crevice. 

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring 
bellows. 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the 
ashes, 

[146] 



EVANGELINE 



Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the 

chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the 

eagle, 
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the 

meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on 

the rafters, 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the 

swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of 

its fledglings; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the 

swallow ! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were 

children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of 

the morning. 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought 

into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a 

woman. 



[147] 



EVANGELINE 



"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was 
the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their or- 
chards with apples; 

She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and 
abundance, 

Pilling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 



[T48] 



II 

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow 
colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air from the 
ice-bound. 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 

Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the winds of 
September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with 
the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their 
honey 

Till the hives overflowed; and the Indian hunters as- 
serted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the 

foxes. 
Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that 

beautiful season, 

[149] 



EVANGELINE 



Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of 
All-Saints I 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and 
the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart 
of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in har- 
mony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the 
farmyards, 

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 
pigeons. 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and 
the great sun 

Looked with the eye of love through the golden vapors 
around him; 

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and yel- 
low. 

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering tree of 
the forest 

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned with 
mantles and jewels. 

[150] 



EVANGELINE 



Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and 
stillness. 

Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight 
descending 

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds 
to the homestead. 

Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks 
on each other. 

And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness 
of evening. 

Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 
heifer, 

Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved 
from her collar. 

Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affec- 
tion. 

Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flock 
from the seaside, 

Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them fol- 
lowed the watch-dog, 

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of 
his instinct. 



[151] 



EVANGELINE 



Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and su- 
perbly 

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag- 
glers; 

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their 
protector. 

When from the forest at night, through the starry silence 
the wolves howled. 

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the 
marshes, 

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor. 

Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes 
and their fetlocks. 

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponder- 
• ous saddles. 

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of 
crimson, 

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blos- 
soms. 

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their 
udders 

Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular 
cadence 

[152] 



EVANGELINE 



Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets de- 
scended. 

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the 
farmyard, 

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into still- 
ness; 

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the 
barn-doors. 

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. 

Indoors, warm bv the wide-mouthed fireplace, idly the 
farmer 

Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames and 
the smoke wreaths 

Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Behind 
him, 

Nodding and mocking along the wall, with gestures fan- 
tastic. 

Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away into 
darkness. 

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his arm- 
chair 



[153] 



EVANGELINE 



Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter plates 
on the dresser 

Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies the 
sunshine. 

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of Christ- 
mas, 

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers before 
him 

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Burgundian 
vineyards. 

Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 
seated, 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the corner be- 
hind her. 

Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its diligent 
shuttle. 

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like the drone 
of a bagpipe, 

Followed the old man's song, and united the fragments 
together. 

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at intervals 
ceases, 



[154] 



EVANGELINE 



Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the priest 

at the altar, 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the 

clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, sud- 
denly lifted. 

Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on 
its hinges. 

Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the 
blacksmith. 

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with 
him. 

"Welcome I" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps 
paused on the threshold, 

"Welcome, Basil, my friend I Come, take thy place on 
the settle 

Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty with- 
out thee ; 

Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of 
tobacco ; 

Never so much thyself art thou as when through the 
curling 

[155] 



EVANGELINE 



Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial 

face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of 

the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the 

blacksmith. 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fire- 
side : — 
"Benedict Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy 

ballad! 
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled 

with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a 

horseshoe." 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline 

brought him. 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly 

continued : — 
"Four days now are passed since the English ships at 

their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed 

against us. 

[156] 



EVANGELINE 



What their design may be is unknown; but all are com- 
manded 

On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's 
mandate 

Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! in the 
meantime 

Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." 

Then made answer the farmer: — "Perhaps some friend- 
lier purpose 

Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests 
in England 

By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 
blighted, 

And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle 
and children." 

"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, 
the blacksmith. 

Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving a sigh, he 
continued : — 

"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port 
Royal. 

Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its 
outskirts, 

[157] 



EVANGELINE 



Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-mor- 
row. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of 

all kinds; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe 

of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 

farmer : — 
"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and 

our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, 
Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of 

sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the night of the 

contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the 

village 
Strongly have built them and well; and, breaking the 

glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a 

twelvemonth. 

[158] 



EVANGELINE 



Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and ink- 
horn. 

Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our 
children?' 

As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her 
lover's, 

Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had 
spoken, 

And as they died on his lips the worthy notary entered. 



[159] 



Ill 

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the 
ocean, 

Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary- 
public; 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize^ 
hung 

Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses 
with horn-bows 

Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 

Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hun- 
dred 

Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great 
watch tick. 

Four long years in the times of the war had he languished 
a captive. 

Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of 
the English. 

Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspi- 
cion, 

[i6o] 




^.. 



HALFWAY DOWN TO THE SHORE EVANGELINE WAITED IN SILENCe' 



—Page 185 



EVANGELINE 



Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and 

childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 
And of the goblin that came in the night to water the 

horses. 
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who un- 

christened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of 

children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable. 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a 

nutshell. 
And of the marvelous powers of four-leaved clover and 

horseshoes. 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the black- 
smith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending 

his right hand, 
"Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the 

talk in the village, 



[i6i] 



EVANGELINE 



And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships 
and their errand." 

Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary 
public, — 

"Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the 
wiser; 

And what their errand may be I know not better than 
others. 

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 

Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why then mo- 
lest us?" 

"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible 
blacksmith; 

"Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, 
and the wherefore? 

Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the 
strongest!" 

But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary 
public, — 

"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice 

Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often con- 
soled me. 



[162] 



EVANGELINE 



When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port 
Royal." 

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to 
repeat it 

When his neighbors complained that any injustice was 
done them. 

"Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer re- 
member. 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its 
left hand. 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice pre- 
sided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of 
the people. 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the 
balance, 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine 
above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land were cor- 
rupted; 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were op- 
pressed, and the mighty 

[163] 



EVANGELINE 



Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noble- 
man's palace 

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a sus- 
picion 

Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the house- 
hold. 

She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold. 

Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Jus- 
tice. 

As to her Father in Heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 

Lol o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the 
thunder 

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its 
left hand 

Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of 
the balance. 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a mag- 
pie, 

Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was 
inwoven." 

Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, 
the blacksmith 



[164] 



EVANGELINE 



Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no 

language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as 

the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the 

winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the ta- 
ble. 

Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home- 
brewed 

Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the 
village of Grand-Pre ; 

While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and 
inkhorn. 

Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the 
parties. 

Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in 
cattle. 

Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were 
completed, 

And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the 
margin. 

[165] 



EVANGELINE 



Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the 

table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the 

bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their wel- 
fare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and 

departed. 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, 
Till "Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its 

corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the 

old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful maneuver. 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made 

in the king-row. 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's 

embrasure. 
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the 

moon rise 
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. 



[i66] 



EVANGELINE 



Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven^ 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the 
angels. 

Thus passed the evening away. Anon the bell from 
the belfry 

Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 
straightway 

Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the 
household. 

Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-- 
step 

Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with 
gladness. 

Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on 
the hearth-stone. 

And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 
farmer. 

Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline fol- 
lowed. 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the dark- 
ness, 



[167] 




EVANGELINE 



Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the 
maiden. 

Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door 
of her chamber. 

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and 
its clothespress 

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were care- 
fully folded 

Linen and woolen stuffs, bv the hand of Evangeline 
woven. 

This was the precious dower she would bring to her hus- 
band in marriage, 

Better than flocks, and herds, being proofs of her skill as 
a housewife. 

Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and ra- 
diant moonlight 

Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, 
till the heart of the maiden 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides 
of the ocean. 

Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood 
with 



[i68] 



EVANGELINE 



Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her 

chamber I 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the 

orchard, » - 

Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp 

and her shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of 

sadness v 

Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the 

moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a mo- 
ment. 
And as she gazed from the window she saw serenely the 

moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her 

footsteps. 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with. 

Hagarl 



[169] 



IV 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of 
Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of 
Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were rid- 
ing at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous 
labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of 
the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms and the 
neighboring hamlets, 

Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peas- 
ants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from the 
young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous 
meadows, 

Where no path could be seen but the track of wheels in 
the greensward, 

[170] 



EVANGELINE 



Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed on the 
highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor were 
silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy groups 
at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped to- 
gether. 

Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed and 
feasted; 

For with this simple people, who lived like brothers to- 
gether, 

All things were held in common, and what one had was 
another's. 

Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 
abundant : 

For Evangeline stood among the guests of her father; 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of welcome 
and gladness 

Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup as she 
gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the orchard, 

[171] 



EVANGELINE 



Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast of be- 
trothal. 

There in the shade of the porch were the priest and the 
notary seated; 

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the black- 
smith. 

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press and 
the beehives, 

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of hearts 
and of waistcoats. 

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately played on 
his snow-white 

Hair, as it waved in the wind, and the jolly face of the 
fiddler 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are blown from 
the embers. 

Gaily the old man sang to the vibrant sound of his fid- 
dle, 

T^ous les bourgeois de Chartres^ and Le Carillon de 
Dunkerque^ 

And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the music. 

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzying 

dances 

[172] 



EVANGELINE 



Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the mead- 
ows; 

Old folk and young together, and children mingled 
among them. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Benedict's 
daughter ! 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the black- 
smith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo! with a sum- 
mons sonorous 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the meadows 

a drum beat. 
Thronged ere long was the church with men. Without, 

in the churchyard. 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and 

hung on the headstones 
Garlands of autumn leaves and evergreens fresh from 

the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 

proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dissonant 

clangor 



EVANGELINE 



Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceiling and 
casement, — 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the 
soldiers. 

Then up rose their commander, and spake from the steps 
of the altar. 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal com- 
mission, 

"You are convened this day," he said, "by his Majesty's 
orders. 

Clement and kind has he been; but how you have an- 
swered his kindness. 

Let your own hearts reply I To my natural make and 
my temper 

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be 
grievous. 

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our 
monarch ; 

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle 
of all kinds 

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from 
this province 

[174] 



EVANGELINE 



Be transported to other lands. God grant you may 

dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Majesty's 

pleasure!" 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of sum- 
mer. 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the 

hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters 

his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch 

from the house-roofs. 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their inclos- 

ures; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the 

speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and 

then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger. 
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the 

doorway. 



[175] 



EVANGELINE 



Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce impre- 
cations 

Rang through the house of prayer; and high o'er the 
heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the black- 
smith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; and 
wildly he shouted, — 

"Down with the tyrants of England! We never have 
sworn them allegiance! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes 
and our harvests!" 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand 
of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to 
the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry conten- 
tion, 
Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of 
the altar. 

[176] 



EVANGELINE 



Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into 
silence 

All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his peo- 
ple; 

Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents measured 
and mournful 

Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the 
clock strikes. 

"What is this that ye do, my children? what madness 
has seized you? 

Eorty years of my life have I labored among you, and 
taught you. 

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 

Is this the fruits of my toils, of my vigils and prayers 
and privations? 

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and for- 
giveness? 

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you 
profane it 

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with 
hatred? 

Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing 



upon you I 



[177] 



EVANGELINE 



Seel in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy 
compassion I 

Hark I how those lips still repeat the prayer, 'O Father, 
forgive them!' 

Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked 
assail us. 

Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, forgive 
them!"' 

Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of 
his people 

Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that passion- 
ate outbreak; 

And they repeated his prayer, and said, "O Father, for- 
give them!" 

Then came the evening service. The tapers gleamed 

from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the 

people responded. 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and the Ave 

Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with 

devotion translated, 

[178] 



EVANGELINE 



Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to 
heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, 

and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and 

children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her 

right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, that, 

descending, 
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and 

roofed each 
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned 

its windows. 
Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth on 

the table; 
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant 

with wild flowers; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh 

brought from the dairy. 
And at the head of the board the great armchair of the 

farmer. 

[179] 



EVANGELINE 



Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as the 
sunset 

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad ambro- 
sial meadows. 

Ah I on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen, 

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celestial as- 
cended, — 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and 
patience ! 

Then all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the village, 

Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate hearts of 
the women 

As o'er the darkening field with lingering steps they de- 
parted. 

Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet of 
their children. 

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glimmering 
vapors 

Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet descending 
from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus sounded. 



[i8o] 



EVANGELINE 



Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church Evangeline 

lingered. 
All was silent within; and in vain at the door and the 

windows 
Stood she, and listened and looked, until, overcome by 

emotion, 
"Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous voice; but no 

answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the gloomier grave 

of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless house of 

her father. 
Smoldered the fire on the hearth, on the board stood the 

supper untasted. 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted with phan- 
toms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of her 

chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain 

fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree by the 

window. 



[i8i] 



EVANGELINE 



Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of the echo- 
ing thunder 

Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the 
world he created! 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the jus- 
tice of heaven; 

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully slum- 
bered till morning. 



[182] 



Four times the sun had risen and set; and now on the 
fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the farm- 
house. 

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pro- 
cession, 

Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Aca- 
dian women, 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the 
seashore, 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on their 
dwellings, 

Ere they were shut from sight by the winding road and 
the woodland. 

Close at their sides their children ran, and urged on the 
oxen. 

While in their little hands they clasped some fragments 
of playthings. 

[183] 



EVANGELINE 



Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried; there on 
the sea-beach 

Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peas- 
ants. 

All day long between the shore and the ships did the 
boats ply; 

All day long the wains came laboring down from the 
village. 

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his set- 
ting, 

Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from 
the churchyard. 

Thither the women and children thronged. On a sud- 
den the church-doors 

Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in 
gloomy procession 

Followed the long-prisoned, but patient Acadian farm- 
ers. 

Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes 
and their country. 

Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary 
and wayworn, 



[184] 



EVANGELINE 



So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants de- 
scended 

Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and 
their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came; and, raising together 
their voices, 

Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
Missions : — 

"Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible fountain ! 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and 
patience!" 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that 
stood by the wayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine 
above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits de- 
parted. 

Halfway down to the shore Evangeline waited in 
silence. 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of af- 
fliction, — 



[I8S] 



EVANGELINE 



Calmly and sadly waited, until the procession approached 

her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and eagerly running to meet 

him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, 

and whispered, — 
"Gabriel I be of good cheer! for if we love one another, 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may 

happen I" 
Smiling she spake these words; then suddenly paused, 

for her father 
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas! how changed was his 

aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his 

eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary heart in 

his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and em- 
braced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort 

availed not. 



[i86] 



EVANGELINE 



Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful 
procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of 
embarking. 

Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too 
late, saw their children 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest 
entreaties. 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her 
father. 

Half the task was not done when the sun went down, 
and the twilight 

Deepened and darkened around; and in haste the reflu- 
ent ocean 

Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand- 
beach 

Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slip- 
pery seaweed. 

Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the 
wagons, 

[187] 



EVANGELINE 



Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farm- 
ers. 

Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing 
ocean, 

Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leav- 
ing 

Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the 
sailors. 

Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from 
their pastures; 

Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from 
their udders; 

Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars 
of the farmyard, — 

Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand 
of the milkmaid. 

Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no Angelus 
sounded. 

Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lights 
from the windows. 



[i88] 



EVANGELINE 



But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been 

kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from wrecks 

in the tempest. 
Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were 

gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the crying 

of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in his 

parish. 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and blessing and 

cheering. 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate sea- 
shore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline sat with 

her father. 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the old man. 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 

thought or emotion. 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have 

been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses to 

cheer him, 

[189] 



EVANGELINE 



Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, he looked 
not, he spake not. 

But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flickering fire- 
light. 

"BenediciteT' murmured the priest, in tones of compas- 
sion. 

More he fain would have said, but his heart was full, 
and his accents 

Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a child on 
a threshold. 

Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful presence 
of sorrow. 

Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the 
maiden. 

Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars that 
above them 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs and sor- 
rows of mortals. 

Then sat he down at her side, and they wept together in 
silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the 
blood-red 

[190] 




LOVELY THE MOONLIGHT WAS AS IT GLANCED AND GLEAMED ON THE WATER" 

— Page 206 



EVANGELINE 



Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er the 
horizon 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon mountain 
and meadow, 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge shad- 
ows together. 

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs of the 
village, 

Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that lay 
in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of flame 
were 

Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the quiv- 
ering hands of a martyr. 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 
thatch, and, uplifting. 

Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hun- 
dred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame inter- 
mingled. 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the shore 
and on shipboard. 



[191] 



EVANGELINE 



Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in their 
anguish, 

"We shall behold no more our homes in the village of 
Grand-Prel" 

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the farm- 
yards, 

Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing of 
cattle 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs in- 
terrupted. 

Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the sleeping 
encampments 

Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the Ne- 
braska, 

When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the speed 
of the whirlwind, 

Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the river. 

Such was the sound that rose on the night, as the herds 
and the horses 

Broke through their folds and fences, and madly rushed 
o'er the meadows. 



[192] 



EVANGELINE 



Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest 
and the maiden 

Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened 
before them; 

And as they turned at length to speak to their silent com- 
panion, 

Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on 
the seashore 

Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had de- 
parted. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
maiden 

Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her ter- 
ror. 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his 
bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slum- 
ber; 

And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multi- 
tude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing 
upon her, 



[193] 



EVANGELINE 



Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compas- 
sion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village, illumined the land- 
scape, 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces 
around her. 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — 

"Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier sea- 
son 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of 
our exile. 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the church- 
yard." 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste 
by the seaside. 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
torches. 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of 
Grand-Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sor- 
row, 

[194] 



EVANGELINE 



Lo I with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast con- 
gregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the 
dirges. 

'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the 
ocean. 

With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurry- 
ing landward. 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of em- 
barking; 

And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out of the 
harbor, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the vil- 
lage in ruins. 



[195] 



PART THE SECOND 



MANY a weary year had passed since the burning 
of Grand-Pre, 
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, 
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile. 
Exile without an end, and without an example in story. 
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed; 
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind 

from the northeast 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of 

Newfoundland. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city 

to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern 

savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the 

Father of Waters 

[197] 



EVANGELINE 



Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the 

ocean, 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the 

mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes; and many, despairing, 

heartbroken. 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend 

nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the 

churchyards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and 

wandered. 
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all 

things. 
Fair was she and young; but, alas! before her extended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its 

pathway 
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and 

suffered before her. 
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and 

abandoned, 
As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked 

by 

[198] 



EVANGELINE 



Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the 
sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, 
unfinished; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine. 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly de- 
scended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had risen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever 
within her, 

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the 
spirit. 

She would commence again her endless search and en- 
deavor; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the 
crosses and tombstones, 

Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps 
in its bosom 

He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside 
him. 

Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, 

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 



[199] 



EVANGELINE 



Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved 

and known him, 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgotten. 
''Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said they; "Oh, yes I we have seen 

him. 
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone 

to the prairies ; 
Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and 

trappers." 
"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "Oh, yes! we have 

seen him. 
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 
Then would they say, — "Dear child! why dream and 

wait for him longer? 
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel*? others 
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal? 
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved 

thee 
Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be 

happy ! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's 

tresses." 



[200] 



EVANGELINE 



Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, — 
"I cannot! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and 
not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines 
the pathway. 

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in dark- 
ness." 

And thereupon the priest, her friend and father-con- 
fessor, 

Said, with a smile, — "O daughter! thy God thus speak- 
eth within thee! 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, return- 
ing 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of 
refreshment; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the 
fountain. 

Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of 
affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is 
godlike. 

[201] 



EVANGELINE 



Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more 
worthy of heaven !" 

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored 
and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whis- 
pered, "Despair not!" 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless 
discomfort. 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of ex- 
istence. 

Let me essay, O Muse! to follow the wanderer's foot- 
steps ; — 

Not through each devious path, each changeful year of 
existence ; 

But as a traveler follows a streamlet's course through the 
valley : 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its 
water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals 
only; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms 
that conceal it, 

[202] 



EVANGELINE 



Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous mur- 
mur; 

Happy, at length, if we find the spot where it reaches an 
outlet. . 



[203] 



II 

It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful 
River, 

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Missis- 
sippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian 
boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the ship- 
wrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common 
misfortune ; 

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or 
by hearsay. 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred 
farmers 

On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father 
Felician. 

[204] 



EVANGELINE 



Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness somber 
with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its 
borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where 
plume-like 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept 
with the current. 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand- 
bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the whimpling waves of 
their margin. 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans 
waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the 
river. 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens. 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove- 
cotes. 

They were approaching the region where reigns per- 
petual summer, 



[205] 



EVANGELINE 



Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange 
and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the east- 
ward. 

They, too, swerved from their course; and, entering the 
Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direc- 
tion. 

Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of 
the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient 
cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the 
herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sun- 
set, 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac 
laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on 
the water. 



[206] 



EVANGELINE 



Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining 
the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through 
chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things 
around them; 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and 
sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be 
compassed. 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prai- 
ries, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mi- 
mosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil. 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has 
attained it. 

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that 
faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the 
moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape 
of a phantom. 

[207] 



EVANGELINE 



Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered be- 
fore her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and 
nearer. 

Then, in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of 

the oarsmen. 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a 

blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy 

the blast rang. 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the 

forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to 

the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 

branches; 
But not a voice replied; no answer came from the dark- 
ness; 
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was 

the silence. 

[208] 



EVANGELINE 



Then Evangeline slept; but the boatmen rowed through 
the midnight, 

Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian boat- 
songs. 

Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian rivers. 

And through the night were heard the mysterious sounds 
of the desert. 

Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the forest, 

Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the 
grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from those 

shades; and, before them 
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchaf alaya. 
Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undulations 
Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in beauty, the 

lotus 
Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the boatmen. 
Faint was the air with the odorous breath of magnolia 

blossoms. 
And with the heat of noon; and numberless sylvan 

islands, 

[209] 



EVANGELINE 



Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming hedges 
of roses, 

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to slum- 
ber. 

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were sus- 
pended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew by the 
margin, 

Safely their boat was moored; and scattered about on the 
greensward, 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travelers slum- 
bered. 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of a cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower and the 
grape-vine 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, de- 
scending, 

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from blossom 
to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slumbered be- 
neath it. 



[210] 



EVANGELINE 



Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an open- 
ing heaven 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions ce- 
lestial. 

Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless islands, 

Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the water. 

Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters and 
trappers. 

Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the bison 
and beaver. 

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful 
and careworn. 

Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, and 
a sadness 

Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly writ- 
ten. 

Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and 
restless. 

Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of sor- 
row. 

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the 
island, 

[211] 



EVANGELINE 



But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of pal- 
mettos, 

So that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed in 
the willows. 

And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen, 
were the sleepers ; 

Angel of God was there none to awaken the slumbering 
maiden. 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on 
the prairie. 

After the sound of their oars on the tholes had died in 
the distance. 

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the 
maiden 

Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — "O Father Feli- 
cian! 

Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel wan- 
ders. 

Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition'? 

Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my 
spirit?" 

Then, with a blush, she added, — "Alas for my credulous 
fancy I 

[212] 



EVANGELINE 



Unto ears like thine such words as these have no mean- 

mg. 
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he 

answered, — 
"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are they to me 

without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the 

surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is 

hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls 

illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the south- 
ward. 
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur 

and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to 

her bridegroom. 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his 

sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of 

fruit-trees ; 



[213] 



EVANGELINE 



Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of 

heavens 
Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the 

forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisi- 

ana. 

And with these words of cheer they arose and contin- 
ued their journey. 

Softly the evening came. The sun from the western 
horizon 

Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the land- 
scape ; 

Twinkling vapors arose; and the sky and water and for- 
est 

Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled 
together. 

Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver. 

Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motion- 
less water. 

Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweet- 
ness. 



[214] 



EVANGELINE 



Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feel- 
ing 

Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters 
around her. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wild- 
est of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the 
water, 

Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music. 

That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed 
silent to listen. 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to 
madness 

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bac- 
chantes. 

Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamenta- 
tion; 

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in 
derision. 

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree- 
tops 

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the 
branches. 

[215] 



EVANGELINE 



With such a prelude as this, hearts that throbbed with 
emotion, 

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through 
the green Opelousas, 

And through the amber air, above the crest of the wood- 
land, 

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring 
dwelling; — 

Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of 
cattle. 



[216] 



Ill 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, 
from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and mystic mistletoe flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at 
Yule-tide, 

Stood secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A 
garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms. 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of 
timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted to- 
gether. 

Large and low was the roof ; and on slender columns sup- 
ported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 
veranda, 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around 
it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, 

[217] 



EVANGELINE 



Stationed the dove-cotes were, as love's perpetual sym- 
bol, 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of ri- 
vals. 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and 
sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees; but the house itself was 
in shadow, 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expand- 
ing 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. 

In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a path- 
way 

Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limit- 
less prairie. 

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy canvas 

Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in 
the tropics. 

Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape- 
vines. 



[218] 



EVANGELINE 



Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the 
prairie, 

Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stir- 
rups, 

Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deer- 
skin. 

Broad and brown was the face that from under the Span- 
ish sombrero 

Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its 
master. 

Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that 
were grazing 

Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory fresh- 
ness 

That uprose from the river, and spread itself over the 
landscape. 

Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and expand- 
ing 

Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that re- 
sounded 

Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of 
the evening. 



[219] 



EVANGELINE 



Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of the 
cattle 

Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents of ocean. 

Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed o'er 
the prairie, 

And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in the dis- 
tance. 

Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the 
gate of the garden 

Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden advancing 
to meet him. 

Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amazement, 
and forward 

Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of wonder; 

When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil, the 
blacksmith. 

Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to the gar- 
den. 

There in an arbor of roses with endless question and 
answer 

Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 
friendly embraces, 



[220] 




'tpiere in an arbor of roses"— Pa^'^ 220 



EVANGELINE 



Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent and 

thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now dark doubts 

and misgivings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, somewhat em- 
barrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, — "If you came by the At- 

chafalaya. 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's boat 

on the bayous ^'■' 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a shade 

passed. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous 

accent, — 
"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her face on 

his shoulder. 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way and she wept and 

lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as 

he said it, — 
"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day he departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds and my 

horses. 

[221] 



EVANGELINE 



Moody and restless grown, and, tried and troubled, his 

spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet existence. 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles. 
He at length had become so tedious to men and to 

maidens. 
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and 

sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the 

Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark 

Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the 

beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the fugitive 

lover; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams 

are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the 

morning 

We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his 

prison." 

[222] 



EVANGELINE 



Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks 
of the river, 

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael, the 
fiddler. 

Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olym- 
pus, 

Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. 

Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. 

"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave Acadian 
minstrel!" 

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; and 
straightway 

Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the 
old man 

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, en- 
raptured. 

Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gos- 
sips. 

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and 
daughters. 

Much they marveled to see the wealth of the ci-devant 
blacksmith, 



[223] 



EVANGELINE 



All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal de- 
meanor ; 

Much they marveled to hear his tales of the soil and the 
climate, 

And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who 
would take them; 

Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and 
do likewise. 

Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the airy ve- 
randa. 

Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper 
of Basil 

Waited his return ; and they rested and feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with 

silver. 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars; but within 

doors, 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the 

glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the 

herdsman 

[224] 



EVANGELINE 



Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless 

profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches 

tobacco. 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as 

they listened: — 
"^Welcome once more, my friends, who so long have been 

friendless and homeless. 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance 

than the old one I 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the riv- 
ers; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer ; 
Smoothly the plowshare runs through the soil as a keel 

through the water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom; and 

grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in 

the prairies; 
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and forests 

of timber 



[225] 



EVANGELINE 



With a few blows of the ax are hewn and framed into 

houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow 

with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away from 

your homesteads. 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your 

farms and your cattle." 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his 

nostrils. 
And his huge, brawny hand came thundering down on 

the table. 
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, aston- 
ished. 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his 

nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder 

and gayer: — 
"Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the 

fever! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate. 
Cured by wearing a spider hung around one's neck in a 

nutshell!" 

[226] 



EVANGELINE 



Then there were voices heard at the door, and footsteps 
approaching 

Sounded upon the stairs and floor of the breezy veranda. 

It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian 
planters, 

Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil, the 
Herdsman. 

Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and neigh- 
bors : 

Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they who before 
were as strangers, 

Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to each 
other, 

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country together. 

But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, proceeding 

From the accordant strings of Michael's melodious hddle. 

Broke up all further speech. Away, like children de- 
lighted. 

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves to the 
maddening 

Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed to the 
music, 



[227] 



EVANGELINE 



Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of fluttering 
garments. 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest 
and the herdsman 

Sat, conversing together of past and present and future ; 

While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for within 
her 

Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the music 

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible sad- 
ness 

Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth into the 
garden. 

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the 
forest. 

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. On the 
river 

Fell here and there through the branches a tremulous 
gleam of the moonlight, 

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and devi- 
ous spirit. 

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers of the 

garden 

[228] 



EVANGELINE 



Poured out their souls in odors, that were their prayers 
and confessions 

Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent Carthu- 
sian. 

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with shadows 
and night-dews, 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the magi- 
cal moonlight 

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable longings, 

i\s, through the garden gate, beneath the brown shade 
of the oak-trees, 

Passed she along the path to the edge of the measureless 
prairie. 

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire-flies 

Gleaming and floating away in mingled and infinite num- 
bers. 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in the heav- 
ens. 

Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to marvel and 
worship, 

Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls of that 
temple. 



[229] 



EVANGELINE 



As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 

''Upharsin." 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and the 

fire-flies. 
Wandered alone, and she cried, — "O Gabriel I O my 

beloved! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold thee? 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does not 

reach me? 
Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the prairie ! 
Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the woodlands 

around me! 
Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from labor. 
Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me in thy 

slumbers. 
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded 

about thee?" 
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whippoorwill 

sounded 
Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through the neigh- 
boring thickets, 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into 

silence. 

[230] 



EVANGELINE 



'Tatiencel" whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of 
darkness; 

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To- 
morrow!" 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the 
garden 

Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed 
his tresses 

With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of 
crystal. 

"Farewell I" said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy 
threshold ; 

"See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting 
and famine, 

And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bride- 
groom was coming." 

"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with 
Basil descended 

Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already 
were waiting. 

Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sun- 
shine, and gladness, 

[231] 



EVANGELINE 



Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speed- 
ing before them, 

Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the 
desert. 

Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that suc- 
ceeded, 

Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, 

Nor, after many days, had they found him; but vague 
and uncertain 

Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and des- 
olate country; 

Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 

Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the 
garrulous landlord 

That on the day before, with horses and guides and com- 
panions, 

Gabriel left the village, and took the road to the 
prairies. 



l232'\ 



IV 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the 

mountains 
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous 

summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, 

like a gateway, 
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's 

wagon. 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and 

Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river 

Mountains, 
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the 

Nebraska; 
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Span- 
ish sierras. 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind 

of the desert. 



EVANGELINE 



Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to 
the ocean. 

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibra- 
tions. 

Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, 
beautiful prairies, 

Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sun- 
shine, 

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amor- 
phas. 

Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk and the 
roebuck ; 

Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless 
horses ; 

Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary 
with travel; 

Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's chil- 
dren, 

Staining the desert with blood; and above their terrible 
war-trails 

Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture. 

Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in 
battle, 

[234] 



EVANGELINE 



By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these sav- 
age marauders; 

Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift- 
running rivers; 

And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the 
desert. 

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the 
brookside, 

And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, 

Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark 

Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers 

behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and 

Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'er- 

take him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the smoke 

of his camp-fire 



[235] 



EVANGELINE 



Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; but at 
nightfall, 

When they had reached the place, they found only 
embers and ashes. 

And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bod- 
ies were weary, 

Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 

Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and van- 
ished before them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently 

entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great as her 

sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her people, 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Co- 

manches. 
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des-Bois, had 

been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warmest and 

friendliest welcome 



[236] 



EVANGELINE 



Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and feasted 

among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the 

embers, 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all his 

companions. 
Worn with the long day's march, and the chase of the 

deer and the bison. 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept where the 

quivering firelight 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped 

up in their blankets. 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and 

repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian 

accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, 

and reverses. 
Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that 

another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been dis- 
appointed. 

12371 



EVANGELINE 



Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's 

compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was 

near her, 
She in turn related her love and all its disasters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had 

ended 
Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror 
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the 

tale of the Mowis; 
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded 

a maiden. 
But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the 

wigwam. 
Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sun- 
shine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into 

the forest. 
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird 

incantation. 
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a 

phantom. 



[238] 



EVANGELINE 



That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the 

hush of the twilight, 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to 

the maiden. 
Till she followed his green and waving plume through 

the forest. 
And never more returned, nor was seen again by her 

people. 
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline 

listened 
To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region 

around her 
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest 

the enchantress. 
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains, the moon 

rose. 
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendor 
Touching the somber leaves, and embracing and filling 

the woodland. 
With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the 

branches 
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whis- 
pers. 

[239] 



EVANGELINE 



Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, 

but a secret, 
Subtle sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the 

swallow. 
It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of 

spirits 
Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a 

moment 
That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a 

phantom. 
And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the 

phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed; and 

the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, — "On the western slope 

of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the 

Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary 

and Jesus; 



[240] 




'silent with wonder and strange surprise EVANGELINE LISTENED 

— Page z^g 



EVANGELINE 



Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, 

as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline 

answered, — r 
"Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await 

us; 
Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of 

the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of 

voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a 

river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit 

Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the 

village. 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A cru- 
cifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by 

grape-vines. 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling 

beneath it. 

[241] 



EVANGELINE 



This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intri- 
cate arches 
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the 

branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travelers, nearer 

approaching, 
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening 

devotions. 
But when the service was done, and the benediction had 

fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the 

hands of the sower. 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and 

bade them 
Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with 

benignant expression 
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the 

forest. 
And with words of kindness conducted them into his 

wigwam. 
There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes 

of the maize-ear 

[242] 



EVANGELINE 



Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd 
of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity 
answered : — 

"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes. 

Told me this same sad tale; then arose and continued 
his journey!" 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an 
accent of kindness; 

But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter 
the snow-flakes 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have 
departed. 

"Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest; 
"but in autumn. 

When the chase is done, will return again to the Mis- 
sion." 

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and sub- 
missive, — 

"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and 
afflicted." 



[243] 



EVANGELINE 



So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the 

morrow, 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and 

companions. 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at 

the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 

other, — 
Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize 

that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now 

waving above her. 
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and 

forming 
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by 

squirrels. 
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and 

the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a 

lover. 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the 

cornfield. 

[244] 



EVANGELINE 



Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her 
lover. 

"Patience I" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy 
prayer will be answered! 

Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the 
meadow, 

See how its leaves all point to the north, as true as the 
magnet; 

It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has sus- 
pended 

Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveler's 
journey 

Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. 

Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of pas- 
sion. 

Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of 
fragrance. 

But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor 
is deadly. 

Only this humble plant can guide us here, and hereafter 

Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the 
dews of nepenthe." 



[245] 



EVANGELINE 



So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — 
yet Gabriel came not; 

Blossomed the opening spring and the notes of the robin 
and bluebird 

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel 
came not. 

But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was 
wafted 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. 

Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan for- 
ests, 

Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw river. 

And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes of 
St. Lawrence 

Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mis- 
sion. 

When over weary ways, by long and perilous marches, 

She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan 
forests. 

Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons 
and places 

[246] 



EVANGELINE 



Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
maiden ; — 

Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian Mis- 
sions, 

Now in the noisy camps and the battlefields of the army, 

Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 

Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremem- 
bered. 

Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long 
journey; 

Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended. 

Each succeeding year stole something away from her 
beauty. 

Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom and 
the shadow. 

Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of gray 
o'er her forehead. 

Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly hori- 
zon. 

As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morn- 
ing. 



[247] 



V 

In that delightful land which is washed by the Dela- 
ware waters, 

Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 
Apostle, 

Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he 
founded. 

There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem 
of beauty. 

And the streets still reecho the names of the trees of the 
forest. 

As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts 
they molested. 

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an 
exile, 

Finding among the children of Penn a home and a coun- 
try. 

There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed. 

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 

Something at least there was in the friendly streets of 

the city, 

[248] 



EVANGELINE 



Something that spake to her heart, and made her no 
longer a stranger; 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the 
Quakers, 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and 
sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor, 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplain- 
ing, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts 
and her footsteps. 

As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and ham- 
lets. 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world 
far below her. 

Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the 
pathway 

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in 
the distance. 



[249] 



EVANGELINE 



Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his 

image, 
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she 

beheld him. 
Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and 

absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. 
Over him years had no power; he was not changed, but 

transfigured ; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not 

absent; 
Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught 

her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with 

aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 
Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her 

Saviour. 
Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy; fre- 
quenting 



[250] 








'TI-IUS MANY YEARS SHE LIVED AS A SISTER OF MERCY" Page 2j0 



EVANGELINE 



Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the 

city, 
Where distress and want concealed themselves from the 

sunlight. 
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neg- 
lected. 
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the 

watchman repeated 
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the 

city. 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of her 

taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through 

the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for 

the market. 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its 

watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild 
pigeons. 



[251] 



EVANGELINE 



Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their 
craws but an acorn. 

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of Sep- 
tember, 

Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in 
the meadow, 

So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural mar- 
gin, 

Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. 

Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the 
oppressor; 

But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; — 

Only, alas I the poor, who had neither friends nor attend- 
ants. 

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the home- 
less. 

Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows 
and woodlands; — 

Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gateway 
and wicket 

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to 
echo 



[252] 



EVANGELINE 



Softly the words of the Lord: — "The poor ye always 

have with you." 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. 

The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold 

there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 

splendor, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and 

apostles, 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 
Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, 
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits would 

enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted 
and silent. 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the alms- 
house. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the 

garden; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among 
them, 

[253] 



EVANGELINE 



That the dying once more might rejoice in their fra- 
grance and beauty. 

Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled 
by the east wind. 

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the bel- 
fry of Christ Church, 

While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were 
wafted 

Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in the 
church at Wicaco. 

Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her 
spirit; 

Something within her said, — "At length thy trials are 
ended" ; 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of 
sickness. 

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful at- 
tendants, 

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and 
in silence 

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing 
their faces, 



[254] 



EVANGELINE 



Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by 
the roadside. 

Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 

Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, 
for her presence 

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of 
a prison. 

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the con- 
soler. 

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it for- 
ever. 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time; 

Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of won- 
der, 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a 
shudder 

Ran through her frame, and forgotten, the flowerets 
dropped from her fingers. 

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom of the 
morning. 



[255] 



EVANGELINE 



Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible 
anguish, 

That the dying heard it, and started up from their pil- 
lows. 

On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old 
man. 

Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his 
temples ; 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier man- 
hood; 

So are wont to be changed the faces of those who are 
dying. 

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the 
fever, 

As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled 
its portals, 

That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass 
over. 

Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
exhausted 

Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in 
the darkness, 

[256] 



EVANGELINE 



Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sink- 
ing. 

Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied rever- 
berations, . 

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush that 
succeeded 

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint- 
like, 

"Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away in silence. 

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his 
childhood ; 

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them, 

Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking 
under their shadow. 

As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his vision. 

Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted his eye- 
lids. 

Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his 
bedside. 

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents 
unuttered 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his 
tongue would have spoken. 
[257] 



EVANGELINE 



Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside 
him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 

Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into 
darkness. 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a case- 
ment. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the 

sorrow. 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing. 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 

patience I 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her 

bosom. 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, "Father, I 

thank thee!" 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its 
shadow. 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are 
sleeping. 

[258] 



EVANGELINE 



Under the humble walls of the little Catholic church- 
yarn, 

In the hetrt of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 

Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them. 

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest 
and forever. 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are 
busy, 

Tnousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased 
from their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed 
their journey! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of 

its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 
Only along the shores of the mournful and misty Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants whose fathers from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are still 

busy; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles. 

of homespun, 

[259] 



'7 



EVANGELINE 



And by the evening fire repeat Evang; ^ry, 

While from its rocky caverns the deep-vi ijhbor- 

ing ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answer. 'of 

the forest. 



THE END 



[260] 



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